


I Thought You Were My Boyfriend

by preshire



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:31:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 82,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preshire/pseuds/preshire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry Styles and Nick Grimshaw fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. being as in love with you as i am

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my baby. Divided into 4 parts, plus an epilogue. Incomplete! Also, timeline may be wonky, but I tried my best to make it as chronologically accurate as possible.
> 
> Disclaimer: This probably didn't happen.

Harry folded himself over, inhaling the sweet incense just barely recognizable over the stench of sweat and sex.

There was a man behind him, a man without a name, grunting loudly as he slumped over the length of Harry's back. He had shoved him over the edge of the bed, and he pulled Harry's hips closer as he remained standing for their encounter.

Harry really needed a cigarette. It was impossible to really forget when there was a cock up your ass, but it was easy enough to ignore it. Especially when the length and girth of said cock wasn't doing anything for him.

He turned his head to the side, pushing himself up onto his elbows. On the bedside table, he spotted his vodka ice.

He reached for it, nearly spilling its contents across the bedspread at a particularly violent thrust. Harry smirked; the man's grunts of annoyance were delectable. Everyone who fucked him thought he should be enjoying it a lot more than he showed. And he did for most. Wasn't his fault the guy had so small a dick and that it was just short of unpleasant. 

The vodka burnt going down, just how he liked it. The room had already been hazy; now the view was caliginous and blurred.

Harry put the now empty glass back down on the bedside table just as the man yanked at his curls. The hold was too tight. It hurt. It hurt like his throat did. It hurt like his bottom did. It hurt like his chest did.

Maybe the chest pains weren't heartbreak. Perhaps he was having a heart attack. How glorious would that be? He couldn’t bother to kill himself over a boy, but he wasn’t going to object to natural causes.

Yes, the ache in his chest cavity wasn't just him being pathetic. It couldn’t be. He was having medical issues. He should go and see a doctor. Nick would tell him to see a doctor. He was feeling poorly.

But Nick wasn't here anymore. He was gone. And he was reminded of it painfully every day.

~~~

500 Days of Summer was a bloody stupid movie. It teaches you to fall in love with the beautiful outcast with the golden personality and the award winning taste in music. Harry had personally gone out and he had done all three, and look where that had left him. It's what he gets for listening to anything Zooey Deschanel says. If someone was to ask him, he would blame this all on 500 Days of Summer.

The whole metaphorical point of that is that it’s supposed to imply that he’d be moving on. Hopefully. He could only hope that one day he'd wake up one morning and fall in love again with someone who wasn't going to break his heart. At least, he thinks that was the message. He had never seen the whole movie. Nick had explained the plot to him. He had been too excitable to sit and watch a full feature length film with Nick’s skin touching his. 

Nick had asked him to move on. He had said that he would do the same. They each had shit to do; goals to achieve and deadlines to reach. He didn't have the time or the patience to balance a full career and a semi-long distance relationship. Harry didn't hold it against him, even though he couldn't fathom how Nick had thought that the boy could just "move on". He wasn't a little baby with the attention span of a gnat. He had grown too famous to take anything normal and constant for granted. Harry blamed 500 Days of Summer. 500 Days of fucking Summer.

All these romantic comedies should have prepared him for the heartbreak that was Nicholas Grimshaw. 

 

**Part One – Strangers**

 

They met at a party. Sort of met. Harry was 17, and the ink on One Direction's contract was still wet. He and the boys were celebrating their new life at a some rich posh night club in London that stunk of superiority as much as the fellow club goers did.

No one recognized them. And if they did, they wouldn't show it. They were too good for associating with boybands from singing competitions.

They didn't mind. They focused on getting properly smashed, assuring each other and themselves that there would be time for recognition later. 

Louis bought him his first drink. His second came when he was chatting up a pretty girl at the bar. She was barely paying attention to his words. It was not going well.

The bartender tapped on Harry's shoulder, and set the drink down in front of him. Harry looked down at it, confused. It was a bright pink atrocity that he would only drink in the confines of his own home (his swanky new flat in London).

The bartender smiled thinly, clearly busy. " 's from the guy at the end, there. Said to say congratulations to the X-Factor brat." 

Harry looked down the bar to see where he was pointing. A man with dark hair piled up in a quiff was looking casually uninterested as he chatted with a bloke in a muscle shirt. He kept glancing rather conspicuously at Harry, and when he noticed him looking back, he smiled widely. He picked up his own drink, which was decidedly not pink, and lifted it in a toast to him.

The girl beside Harry had followed his gaze curiously (but in a way that still said she was too cool to really care). "Oh," she said passively. "You know Nick?"

"No," he said honestly because he was 17 and he still couldn't lie to women. 

He didn't end up sleeping with her. Harry'd like to blame it on the less than manly drink he was sipping on. (Alcohol's still alcohol. he wasn't about to waste it.) By the time he realized that she was a lost cause, the mysterious Nick had vanished from the bar. Harry bit back his disappointment.

If he knew he was an X-Factor brat, he must surely know that he wasn't 18 yet. And he had still bought him a drink. That sort of decided recklessness appealed to Harry, because he was coming to realize that his days of being a reckless young kid had to come to an end with the signing of his contract. The circus production that was his relationship with Caroline Flack would prove that. He hadn't thought about it before, because he had been too excited about the idea of being signed with his four best mates. But that contract had had a lot of pages, and a lot of clauses and conditions and terms that he had not really read through as well as he should have. They should have hired a lawyer. Liam had suggested it, but they had voted that down because lawyers meant time and they wanted it done now. 

Simon's lawyers would have their best interests in mind, wouldn't they? 

And even if Nick hadn't realized that he was underage, it still appealed to Harry that he would send a drink to a complete stranger, just in congratulations. He didn't come over, and breathe down his neck like a sleazeball. He just decided on the spur of the moment whim, to buy that kid on X-Factor a pink cocktail.

Harry appreciated it.

~~~

The second time they met was at a GQ dinner. An actual legitimate grown up dinner. They had been invited. And they were sitting with actual important people.

Including Grimmy, who spent 5 minutes introducing himself to each boy and another 5 minutes delighting over the fact that they all were colour-coordinated like a proper boyband.

He didn't seem like he was going to mention buying Harry a drink, and Harry wasn't about to bring it up. It wasn't until a bit later, when Louis handed Harry a glass of champagne.

"Sure you're old enough for that, popstar?" Grimmy asked, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

Harry barked, slapping a hand to cover his mouth immediately after. He giggled through his fingers, staring at Nick but his mind had gone blank. He couldn't think of anything to say; the fact that he had this private joke with this older, achingly cool man had a real impact on his ability to speak.

It didn't matter anymore, though. Nick had already turned away and was chatting with Niall, who had been quite taken to the older man as well. Harry was left still half giggling to himself. 

Nick really had a way of leaving him without. First, he had left him speechless. 

~~~

The next thing Nick made him was breathless. 

After Harry slapped his bum at the teen awards, Nick refocused his attention on the youngest member of One Direction. They were both busy, of course, so his attention was mostly paid by that one time Harry called into Radio 1, and occasional texts of puns and things Nick thought Harry would laugh at. Harry usually did. 

It wasn't until Harry was in Manchester when they finally saw each other again. Harry was in Manchester, Nick was in Manchester. It was practically fate.

They were to meet up at a mall, because Harry wasn't yet in danger of being swarmed everywhere he went and Nick needed a new pair of jeans. 

When Harry told Louis where he was going and who he was going with, Louis had only smirked. He couldn't help but notice how Harry became a 13 year old girl whenever Grimmy was mentioned. Couldn't help but notice whenever Harry turned on Nick's show some nights when he was supposed to be asleep.

Louis knew that Harry had a huge crush on the DJ. It was sort of a casual thing, though: they didn't have time to LIKE like someone they've only just met. But as far as cute little hero worship crushes go, Harry had it bad. Louis just knew it.

"Love you, have fun." Louis was the one to push him out the door. Seeing Harry act so ridiculous and pubescent was adorable. He loved every moment of it, storing it away in a mental scrapbook as to better mock his curly haired friend later.

Harry met Nick in front of a McDonalds. They attempted to share a large fry as they walked through the mall, but Harry was so nervous in Nick's presence that he dropped the lot of them. Nick was not impressed.

Moments later, the two were holed up in the very back corner of a department store Harry wasn't really paying attention to. In hindsight, he wished that he had memorized these scenes when he had been in them. Looking back at it now, it would have been nice. 

They left shortly after arriving, because Nick was in a huff for being mistaken as Harry's father, and Harry for resembling Frankie Cocozza. 

"We should write a letter of complaint," Nick grumped as they waited in line for an ice cream cone. "Moreso for your sake. I’m just an old bag of bones, but your celebrity pride was just wounded."

"You're not old," Harry said dismissively, eyeing the flavours in the case before him. Somewhere along the way of being angry together, any remaining awkwardness of "what are we even doing" drained away.

Nick scoffed, after receiving his own soft serve. "Says you. You, with your young spry body and your bouncy hair. Some of us are approaching geriatric age. This ice cream is too cold. It's hurting my tooth enamel." 

Harry laughed again, finally deciding on black cherry. You could not go wrong with black cherry.

When they had paid and the server handed the ice cream to Harry, Nick surveyed the cone in the younger boys hand.

"What is that?"

"Black cherry."

"Diva."

"Hey," Harry said slowly, licking the ice cream and savouring the flavour.

"Could I have a taste? I've never had the flavour before."

"What about your enamel?"

"It'll be fine. I couldn't call myself a soft serve enthusiast if I didn't have a proper sample of that."

"Go for it?" Harry awkwardly extended his arm a bit, wondering if Nick was just going to lean over and lick it in front of god and this whole crowd of people doing their shopping.

He did. Harry's breath caught in the back of his throat in surprise and he started choking. Nick, like a startled rabbit jumped at the sudden noise and joined Harry in choking.

It was ridiculous, but as soon as they had wiped their wet eyes and regained their breath, they dissolved into hysterics. They were bright red in the face from laughing by the time they rather reluctantly parted ways.

~~~ 

Shortly after their shopping trip, Nick made Harry wish he were DJ-less altogether. Nick had out of the blue invited him out to a party with his friends, the elite hipsters of London. 

And what was he going to do, say no? 

No, Harry agreed and he just wore a black sweatshirt because he wasn't aware this was an actual event he was heading to.

An event in which Nick dressed up as some sort of jungle cat, probably a lion. Nick changed his mind as to what his costume was all throughout the night. He prowled around the warehouse the party had started in, and went only too happily onto the streets at the prodding of his friends. Harry trailed behind, laughing in bewilderment at Nick. He had never met anyone more batshit crazy in his whole life, he decided as he watched Nick bat with a stuffed paw at Gwen for the bottle of booze she had stashed in her purse. 

When a couple girls who happened to be walking by recognized Harry and asked him for a picture, Harry dragged them away from Nick and his group before posing.

"Too embarrassed to be seen with us, popstar?" Nick had called out, making Harry's eyes crinkle in the probably too dark and too blurry photo the girl took of them on her blackberry. He gave them both a hug, before scurrying after Nick, who hadn't bothered waiting for Harry to finish. He was obviously in a rush to wander the streets like the delinquent teens they weren't. 

Harry caught up, slipping in between Nick and the shady looking Patrick, who had been walking a little too close to Nick for Harry's liking. 

"Well look who's come crawling back," Nick said crossly, but throwing an arm over Harry's shoulder and pulling him closer into his side. He was smashed, and when Harry slipped an arm around his waist he assured himself that it was only to steady the man.

It probably wasn't, but.

~~~

Harry is playing in Manchester around Christmas 2011. Nick texts him on the 21st, telling him that he knows they're in the same city and that he needs him to come over and save the Grimshaw family Christmas from the ruins it has spiraled into.

It means that he needs Harry to bring them more potatoes. They had run out. 

Later, when they're all crowded around a table, having been harassed by Mr Grimshaw because the parsnips were not being peeled to his liking, Harry finally allowed himself to relax. He had been angsting over what dinner with someones parents meant the whole evening, conveniently forgetting that he had 2 missed calls from Caroline in his voicemail. 

Christmas dinner was lovely. Nick's dad only called him Henry once, and his mum was much more impressed with Harry than she was with Aimee.

"Fashion Week is coming up soon, you must come with Nick and I." Mrs Grimshaw said, patting Harry's leg amiably. 

"Oh mum," Nick groaned and Aimee snorted. "Harry's a big deal popstar. He hasn't got time for us commoners."

"Untrue," Harry laughed. "I've always got time for charity." He carefully avoided the bread roll chucked at him by Nick's niece with his cat-like reflexes.

"He needs to schedule it months in advance. The only reason he's here now is because I light up his world like nobody else and such. Also, because Caroline is my friend and I can tell her some awful story and make sure she never has sex with you ever aga--"

"Grimmy!" Harry exclaimed, turning away from Nick's mum in slight embarrassment to his other side where Nick was sitting. He shoved his hands over Nick's mouth, unable to keep the wide grin imprisoned behind his lips.

This achieved nothing but getting Harry's palms wet. He tore his hands away, looking incredulously at the DJ while the rest of the table was busy busting their guts laughing.

"Did you just lick me?!" The laughing intensified. 

~~~

Two days later, Nick and Aimee showed up at One Direction's Manchester show. Harry pretended that seeing Nick jumping around in the crowd of crying teenage girls didn't actually light up his life.

~~~

Throughout all of this, Caroline Flack is a prominent part in Harry's life. It was his fault, really. He was the one who pursued her, despite gentle but firm warnings against it from Simon Cowell and his team. Since coming in 3rd in the x-factor, One Direction needed press, but this was not what they had in mind.

Caroline Flack was in her early thirties; Harry hadn't even hit the legal drinking age. She had that whole effortless persona that Harry desperately wanted to replicate upon his own person. Her legs came down from heaven and went on forever, and she was funny and kind and charismatic. All in all, she had been irresistible to Harry, unfortunately for their PR team.

But as these things go, the only one who was really hurt was Caroline. Harry was propelled to stardom as that 17 year old that fucked the older woman; yeah, that one from the x-factor. Yeah, from that boyband. Most men who he came across grudgingly respected for it, while Caroline was portrayed as a pervert and a pedophile. No one could get out of their business, and the constant conflicts and ridiculous rumours posted in the papers eventually led them to calling it quits at the new year.

One Direction conveniently were scheduled to open for an American boyband at the beginning of 2012. They were trying to break the American market, and it proved a good distraction from the fact that he would never be having sex with Caroline again. Harry was torn up about it.

Big Time Rush was fun. They were good, solid lads with good solid bone structure and one night when they were in Toronto they had gotten spectacularly smashed and Harry had snogged James Maslow a bit because he thought it’d be good banter. Kendall, bless him, told them they’d be a good power couple in the world of boybands and Zayn told Harry if he shagged a member of The Wanted he’d be unstoppable. Harry went back to his hotel room and left a message on Nick’s answering machine, giggling about how rubbish Americans are at kissing.

The boybanders barely escaped each other’s companies with their lives, after a particularly awkward spell where James would promptly leave the room when Harry or Louis entered it. Harry, for obvious reasons. Louis, because he couldn’t (or wouldn't) stop taking the piss and dropping hints about girlfriends, beards and keeping faithful.

And One Direction was going back later that year for a North American tour, because the American girls adored them. They had started out as the opening act for Big Time Rush, but by the end of the tour, Big Time Rush was the closing act for One Direction.

Soon enough, January is almost gone and February is approaching and with it his birthday. Harry is ridiculously excited. He's turning 18, and now he can get as smashed as he wants without anyone bothering him.

It's almost February, and Harry's fresh off the plane from the too long flight back to the UK, and he's pulling out his phone to see a new text from a certain Radio 1 host.

**seen you're back on home soil soon, drinks later? x**

Harry doubts that Nick knows it's almost Harry's birthday, but he likes how Nick doesn't care that he's underage and a world famous popstar and shouldn't be out drinking with the likes of Nick Grimshaw. Not that Nick's a particularly bad person. Just that Harry should be drinking with supermodels and people of a higher celebrity than Nick.

_just got off the plane now, still fancy a drink? :) x_

**what kind of question is that, i always fancy a drink**

~~~

Harry is hanging on Nick's arm, obscuring his face from the crowd in Nick's neck. Nick is guiding him around to the back entrance that they entered through, complaining about protecting his honour and secrecy. Harry secretly hopes that Nick and his friends don’t mind the extra effort they need to put in to hang out with Harry. He doesn't want them to give up on him anytime soon.

When they hail a cab, Harry is still a little unsteady of his feet and Nick chastises him for being unable to hold his liquor.

"Hey," Nick says suddenly, as if it has just occurred to him. "Aren't you too young to be drinking anyways?"

"I turn 18 in a couple of days." Harry slurs, trying to position himself to make himself look slightly more dignified than he's capable of becoming in his inebriated state.

"Really?"

"Yes." Harry laughs, because Nick's face looks all wonky, like he's devising a plan in his head.

~~~

Nick throws Harry a "Happy Birthday You're Now a Legal Adult Here Have a Drink" dinner party. All of Nick's cool friends are in attendance, and they're Harry's now too because they got him presents. Harry is a little put out by the fact that none of the boys are there on his birthday, but Nick assures him that he'd invited them, but they all understood that they needed space. If they didn’t, they might actually kill each other when they went off to France or wherever they were going next.

After Harry is finished opening his last present (a box of trojans, extra large and a ₤5 giftcard for Starbucks from Pixie, “do you even know what 5 pounds looks like?” Harry teases the blonde from across the table), Nick calls for the cheque and he pays for Harry's pasta.

"Nick," Aimee pouts, pulling out her own credit card. "Why don't you ever pay for my meal when we go out?"

"Because I’m a gentleman, and this is mine and Harry's first official date," Nick declares like a proud seven year old, and Harry nearly chokes on his beer even though he knows Nick is joking.

The crowd mostly disperses after they've paid, and Harry's gets a lot of pats on the head and hugs from people he can only distinguish by what they had bought him because he has no idea what their names are. Nick picks up Harry's bag of gifts, and throws it in his car and informs Aimee that they'll meet her at the club. He yanks Harry into his car with him, and he speeds out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" Harry asks, popping his knuckles and reaching to fiddle with the radio knob.

Nick slaps Harry's hand away. "We'll drop off your presents at mine then catch a cab back to the club. Unless you want to lug it around London with you."

Harry doesn't want to, so he doesn't make a fuss about practically being kidnapped. Nick sings loudly about igniting the night like the fourth of July, and doesn't let Harry stop laughing for the entire car ride. When they get back to Nick's flat, Nick throws Harry's gifts in through the front door and to the side, phone for a cab already pressed to his ear. He shuts the door, then sits down on the front step and pats the empty concrete beside him.

Harry sits, feeling lighter than he has in ages and already pleasantly tipsy.

"So. How does it feel being an adult? You're just like the rest of us." Nick says, and it sounds loud on the darkened doorstep of Nick's posh neighborhood.

"You're not like the rest," Harry leans his head on Nick's shoulder, and it feels like he's in a romantic comedy. He felt light a second ago, but now he feels too heavy, too aware of his own body, and he's not touching Nick like he wants to be touching Nick. He doesn't know where along the line he had stopped being only vaguely attracted to the man, and started actively wanting him.

"What a line," Nick replies, and he puts an arm around Harry because it's cold and they're sharing body heat. "You're making me swoon."

"I’m the new definition of charmer," Harry says weakly, a random line of Louis' popping into his mind.

Nick snorts, and it seems to ring out across the gray London snow. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Knew you'd eventually try and get in my trousers. Surprised you resisted my good looks for this long, anyway."

Harry picks his head up off of Nick, suddenly deciding, and turns to look at him straight on. "I need you to tell me something, and you need to promise you'll tell the truth."

Nick is picking at his hands, alternating between looking back at Harry and looking down at his cuticles. "Alright, then. What am I telling you?"

Harry bites the inside of his cheek, and looks down at his own hands because the two of them are pre-teens. "Do you ever think about, like, snogging me? ‘cause I do you." it sounds so stupid, he's so stupid, this is so stupid.

Nick pauses. "What?"

"It's fine if you don't," Harry rushes, because he's right, this is stupid. "I was just thinking that'd it be at least worth a go, because you're fit and I like you and I wanted to put that out there." He's staring daggers at his knees, internally willing himself to disappear.

Because that's just the kind of guy Harry is. He doesn't speak often; he's not a rambler except when he thinks he's already said too much. He doesn't speak that much, but he likes to be upfront and honest about things. Because if he fucks something up, it doesn't matter because he'll be halfway across the planet by the next week anyway. He wears his heart on his heart on his sleeve, despite his mum's warnings to do otherwise, because there's a lot of people who will take advantage of that. But that's who he is. It's who he has always been, and always will be. If he likes Nick Grimshaw, he's going to tell Nick Grimshaw and live with the consequences.

Nick's quiet, like he doesn't know what to say, and that's a first. Harry wonders what Nick would do if he just stood up and dissolved into smoke, because that'd be better than rendering Nick unable to speak.

"Oh god," Harry says quietly, and he's really starting to freak out. "Just, forget I said anything. You don't need to reject me. I get it."

"Harry," Nick finally says, and he sounds fucking _weak_ , and Harry made him sound that way. He doesn't say anything else, just takes Harry's hand in his and starts stroking it with his thumb. Nick's hands are shaking a bit, and they both pretend that it's just because it's so cold out.

The cab finally arrives, and they pile in and Nick hasn't answered him verbally, but Harry keeps catching him staring out of the corner of his eye, and he figures that’s an answer in itself.

~~~

It's probably the next day by now, and they're still out and they're dancing. Every single time someone sidles up closer to dance with Harry, Nick will grab Harry by the hand and pull him back into his orbit. It's not a subtle thing, and Nick pulls him close enough that they're almost grinding against the other every time, and Harry's probably going to overdose on the man.

Their friends have slunk off on the arms of people with pupils blown wide, and there's a bad Ke$ha remix blasting through the club. Nick and Harry had been separated by the crowd again, but Harry's drunk enough that he just keeps dancing, slow and dirty with anyone around him.

He feels arms drape around his waist from behind, and Nick's familiar voice is crooning in his ear. "You look so good it's illegal."

Harry laughs, the sound getting lost in the bass but Nick's so close behind him he can probably feel it. He leans his head back onto Nick's shoulders for the second time that night, but this time Harry's arse is pressed against Nick's crotch and he’s exposing his throat. "Not illegal anymore, am I," Harry says darkly, and then they're kissing sideways, Nick's hands on his hips, Harry's arms stretched back behind his head to try and get a grasp on the older man, grinding to the beat.

Nick brings Harry back to his place, muttering about him having left his presents at his house, but they're making out in the cab ride there, so Harry figures he might have ulterior motives. When they've paid the cabbie, they race each other up to Nick's flat, out of breath and laughing loudly by the time Nick shuts his front door behind him.

"I win," Harry pants, back against the wall beside the door where he threw himself the second the door had opened.

"No, I win." Nick laughs breathily, throwing himself at Harry and attacking him with his lips. Harry is ridiculously glad that he had taken the chance and asked if Nick was up for it, because he's in Nick's flat and Nick's leading him into his bedroom clumsily, stumbling every few feet because he has no sense of coordination while simultaneously ravishing someone's mouth with his tongue.

"Whatever, just want you to touch me." Harry grunts, and he pushes Nick down to sit on the edge of his bed, and Harry stands back and tears his own shirt off.

Nick's eyes are hooded as he watches Harry's movements carefully. "Yeah?" Nick reaches out and snatches Harry by the elbow and wrenches him forward forcefully. Harry snaps into place on his lap. "Want me to fuck you?"

Harry readjusts on Nick's lap so he's facing the older man with his legs on either side. "Yes yes yes," he sighs, and Nick's teeth clack against his own because he's smiling as they start kissing again.

"Wanted this for a long time," Nick whispers as he breaks away from Harry's lips, blowing kisses down the side of his neck. Harry whines an incoherent reply, wrapping his arms around Nick's skinny shoulders, pulling their bodies as tight as they can possibly go against each other. Harry's vision feels like it's going black because he is so overwhelmed by the sense of desire to _have sex with Nick_. He can't even figure out properly what he wants or how he wants it. He just knows that he wants to wake up in the morning sore and bruised and be able to say, "I got fucked by Nick Grimshaw".

Harry's still muttering inarticulately, and he doesn't even know what the syllables escaping his mouth mean. He's grinding his hips up and down on Nick's bulge, which is painfully trying to escape from the confines of the too tight denim that Nick's so fond of. Nick's hands roam Harry's back, almost the same size of Harry's entire shoulder blades and that thought makes him shiver with anticipation. Harry tilts his head back to expose his neck, because a pair of lips are still nipping and biting at the slightly sweaty skin there.

Suddenly, Nick's rising to his feet, cupping Harry's arse and holding him upright. Harry is so surprised by his action that he momentarily stops rutting his hips. He wraps his legs up and around the man and quickly restarts, though, with faster fervour than before.

Nick chuckles, and it's dark and seductive and Harry just wants Nick's dick in his mouth, or in his ass, and he's never been so desperate for it. Despite all the media saying otherwise, Harry is actually usually pretty classy about sex. He treats the girls and boys he fucks with respect, and he kisses them sweetly when he says goodbye in the morning. It's never overwhelming. It's always just logically getting off.

This isn't like that. He might fall apart right there, just by the thought of Nick being inside of him. It’s like all the blowjobs and casual fucking couldn’t have prepared him for this.

Just as suddenly as Nick stood, he's throwing Harry on the bed onto his back, and Harry waits patiently as Nick looms over him, tearing off his clothes. Harry slides out of his own jeans, pulling his pants down with them, and his cock hits his stomach almost comically. It's painful and red and throbbing, and pre-come is already seeping out. But he waits, and he's almost proud of himself for not coming right there as he watches Nick strip.

Nick, now completely naked with an angry looking cock of his own, descends to his knees and starts crawling on top of Harry. In his hand, a bottle of lube and a condom between two fingers like a cigarette has appeared from thin air. He places them both down beside Harry's body, and he leans over and kisses Harry on the lips. It's just a short peck, but it leaves Harry feeling hyper-sensitive all over. Nick sits up, on his knees between Harry's legs, and he pushes them further apart. He dips down, and grasps each of Harry's thighs with both hands, fingers nearly wrapping all the way around. He kisses his way down the crevice, lips ghosting over the tendon connecting his legs to his hips.

"Please, just, please." Harry hears himself whimpering, and Nick looks up from his position between his legs and his brows quirk into the air. Harry can't look at it, just can't. He throws his head up in the pillows, and his hands find the bottle of lube on the bed beside him and he shoves it down on Nick. "I can't..." he trails off, but Nick gets the message. He must remember what it’s like to be 18 and being unable to control his anatomy. He sits up, and the bottle opens with a quiet pop. He slicks his fingers up, and stares Harry down with dark eyes, of which Harry doesn't see. He's got his eyes clenched shut, tense from head to toe.

"Relax, love," Nick coos, and his voice sounds raspy as he presses his fingers to the puckered skin. Harry takes a deep breath, and tries, but jumps when a finger actually slips inside of him.

Nick hisses, "so tight."

Slowly, oh so slowly, Nick works his pointer finger all the way in. He bends it and wiggles it around, until it's deep inside and curled into that small little bundle of nerves and Harry reaches down for the second time and pushes at Nick's hand. "More," he snarls, before falling back again.

Nick's laughing again and muttering about greedy popstars, but he's relenting and he's slipped two more fingers in and tears are slipping past Harry's eyes they're clenched tight so hard. He fucks him with his fingers, gradually working up to a fast and hard pace where Harry's relaxed and loose. Without further warning, Nick pulls his fingers out, and he's tearing into the condom before Harry even has a chance to protest about the sudden emptiness.

He unfurls the condom onto his dick, slicking it up with a generous amount of lube before even thinking about lining up with the boy beneath him. When he does, he slides slowly but surely in, because Nick's more length than he is girth. He's still clasping onto Harry's thighs, but this time it feels more because he needs to hold onto something.

"God, Harry," Nick moans, breath hitching and panting. "You're... I’m..."

"Harder Grimmy," because Nick's not allowed to quit on him now. Nick's not allowed to come before Harry will be sufficiently sore tomorrow.

Nick nods his head, as if accepting the unspoken challenge Harry's given him. He squeezes even tighter onto Harry's legs, and pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in. Harry squeaks, and he would be embarrassed if he could notice anything but the unbelievable pleasure wracking his body and leaving him a shaking mess as he barely held himself from coming with each thrust. Nick repeats, over and over again, inhaling through his teeth as he drops his head beside Harry's, nipping at his ears weakly. Harry can barely feel it, he's feeling so much.

"Nick, I, please," with one hand furrowed in the sheets, one hand tugging on his cock, Harry comes with a throaty groan. Nick looks down, to ensure that Harry has come before somehow fucking into him even faster and harder to chase his own orgasm. Harry tries to squeeze tight around him, but it's difficult when he's feeling so loose and placid.

"Nick," Harry whines, voice breaking at a particularly hard thrust. "I want to suck you off, want you to come in my mouth." Barely a second passes, before Nick's pulling out and ripping the condom off. Harry sits up in eager anticipation, and they switch positions with Nick on his back, and Harry between his legs. Nick looks positively wrecked, flushed and sweating, clearly already almost over the edge. Harry is briefly impressed that he'd had the control to pull out at all, and he shows his appreciation by swallowing nearly the whole thing in one go.

It takes only the head hitting the back of Harry's throat once before Nick's spilling with a shaky yell. Harry takes care to swallow it all down, milking all of the bitter liquid before pulling off with a slurp. He wipes his lips off with a grin, before crawling on top of Nick, who is panting like he's just run a marathon.

"Hi," Harry says cheerfully, attaching his lips to Nick's. They stay like that for a moment, Nick's arms wrapped around the birthday boy, quietly kissing as their heartbeats caught up with them.

When Nick pulls back first, the smile on his face is soft and affectionate. "Hi."

~~~

The morning after leaves Nick groaning about his hangover until Harry goes down on him again. Harry says it's just to get him to shut up and stop complaining, but it's really not. Nick doesn't kiss him after, because he says his breath smells like a long night out and Harry's smells like dirty cock. Harry giggles, because Nick's so funny and cool and interesting and he really likes Nick. There’s a pain in Harry’s lower back and he’s sore in that way that he can’t stop thinking about why he’s sore. He’s happy to bear the pain.

Later, when they've both brushed their teeth and they're sitting naked on Nick's couch with a cup of tea, Nick kisses him. He sets his cup down on the coffee table, then snatches Harry's just as he's taking a sip and puts it down beside it. He curls his fingers into Harry's hair, and pulls him close and kisses him. He kisses him and then pulls away for the briefest moment to shove his hair out from his eyes and take a sip of tea and then kisses him again.

10 minutes later when it's Nick turn to be going down on Harry, it occurs to the younger man just how much trouble he's actually in. Twisting fingers up in Nick's hair as he bobs in between his legs, he realizes how far gone he already is.

When Harry's close, Nick pulls off and jerks him lazily the rest of the way, kissing the head gently before sitting back up. Harry's about to insist on reciprocating, but it's at that moment when Nick notices the time.

"Shit," he says looking gloomily over at the antique grandfather clock ticking on the other side of the room. "I've got a meeting to get to, love." He stands up, and Harry stands with him, looking a bit panicked.

"A meeting? For what?" Harry demands sadly, feeling clingy and annoying.

Nick's staring down, and sighs dissatisfied with his neglected semi. "We do have meetings, you know. I don't just show up at night and capture the hearts of all my listeners through improvisation, young Harold."

" 'm not that young," Harry grumbles, but he sits back down huffily to say, go on then. He stares at his own stomach, which is covered in quickly drying cum but he can't bring himself to trail after Nick, who has moved to the bathroom to have a shower.

Harry somehow ends up sitting there for as long as it takes for Nick to shower, dry and style his hair, and get dressed without moving from his slouch on the sofa. When Nick comes back, he looks at the sulking popstar and shakes his head with an exasperated smile.

"Relax, Harry." He leans down and pecks the boy on the cheek. "I'll be back in an hour or two so we can have a chat about what we've gotten ourselves into."

At this, Harry perks up. "Really?" He looks up at Grimmy suspiciously.

Nick is fiddling with his bracelets and nods his head airily. "Don't expect too much, though. I’m proper shit at romantic entanglements that don't involve us being properly entangled." He turns away, and walks towards out of the room. Before the front door closes behind him, Nick hollers, "you can stay here, if you want to wait."

~~~

Harry waits.

~~~

Nick returns three hours later, rushing through the door in a flurry of movement and Starbucks.

"Sorry, traffic was, ugh." he swoops down and kisses Harry on the lips, and wow that’s new, before setting the tray of their drinks down on the chaise in front of them. He looks at the younger with a smirk on his face. "Did you just sit here the whole time?"

"No," Harry replies snatching his drink eagerly. "I got dressed. Cleaned the spunk off of me. Then came back to watch weird documentaries."

Nick nods knowingly, sitting down with a bit of space between them. "That sentence describes the whole of my teenage years."

They're quiet for a moment, the sounds of a somber man explaining the dangers of alcoholism ringing from the TV and bouncing off their ears. Harry sighs deeply, then breaches the topic.

"So... what's going to happen then?"

"With us?"

"Yes."

Nick's still staring at the television, but his eyes seemed glazed. "I reckon you'll be out of the country a lot." and Harry's heart stutters.

"I will be."

"But I don't think there's anyone else I really fancy being with while you're away. And I don't think we should be exclusive or boyfriends or anything, but you know." Nick takes a sip of his tea, and his hand is shaking. "I’m not asking you to be celibate. While you're in London, I'll be there. That sound good?"

Harry smiles down at his tea clenched in his hand, and his eyes wrinkle and his dimples appear. "You have no idea."

Nick glances towards Harry, but only for a second before staring back at the TV, like he'd lost his nerve. Harry notices, of course he notices. He slides over on the couch, eliminating the space between their thighs, and resting his head on Nick's shoulder.

He can feel Nick's smile even if he can't see it.

~~~

On February 8th, Harry drives up to Manchester to have dinner with his parents. They go to a nice Italian restaurant, and Harry’s really missed them. Even so, he can’t bring himself to ask normal questions and talk about normal things because he just can’t stop talking about funny things Nick’s done and funny things Nick’s said. He orders a glass of red and he gets his mum to take a picture of him and the glass to send to him.

Anne and Robin aren’t stupid. After exactly the 6thtime that Harry drops the Nick bomb in a consecutive row, they’ve both got that secretive smile spilling across their faces. Harry barely notices; so caught up in a story that Nick told him about why he isn’t too fond of hot beverages.

Fun fact, Nick informed Harry of how much he disliked tea as he was brewing a pot for the both of them, saying he didn’t much mind it when the younger boy was drinking it with him.

At the end of the night, Anne sidles up to her son after he’s insisted on paying the bill.

“So,” she says quietly, linking her arm in his. “How long have you been dating him?”

“What?” Harry asks, a little lost at the best of times.

Anne shakes her head, smiling fondly. “Nick, of course.”

Harry furrows his brows almost comically. “What?” He repeats.

Anne stares serenely at Robin, who is fussing over how he should tip their kind waitress. Harry’s fairly certain that the waitress had only been nice to them because she had wanted to sleep with Harry, if her phone number on his napkin had meant anything at all, but he hadn’t the heart to tell his stepdad. The look in her eyes is kind of nice. Harry was young, but he remembers his dad leaving. He sees the juxtaposition between Anne looking at Des, and Anne looking at Robin.

He’s vaguely sure that he occasionally has the same look on his face when looking at Nick, but that’s a thought he can’t afford when he’s going on a North American tour in a month.

“Alright, you don’t need to tell me now.” Anne finally says, as Robin makes his way over to the two brunettes.

“I’m not dating Nick,” Harry replies, firmly but cheeks colouring lightly. He’s not embarrassed.

Anne’s still not looking directly at Harry, respecting his space because she knows how little privacy he does get. She doesn’t press the matter, and he doesn’t bring it up again that night.

~~~

The lads dump ice on him while he’s getting a massage. Nick can’t stop laughing when Harry gets back to London.

~~~

Harry and Nick go to a Super Bowl party and they can't keep their hands from brushing the other's skin. But soon after, One Direction sets off to go to France. Harry doesn't know if Nick would be allowed to bring him to the airport, and he wouldn't know how to ask him even if he was. When the car picks he and Louis up at their shared flat, his lips are chapped and red and aching from the older man on their kerb who insisted on calling a cab.

France is fun, and windy and sunny and considerably warm for February. One night, Louis steals his phone tries to count his texts to Nick from that day alone. Louis eventually gives up, because he's grown bored from scrolling up so far. He tells Harry that he's totally obsessed and Nick better know what he's getting into. Zayn asks for Grimmy's number to give him The Talk, and Harry refuses to give it to any of them.

Nick's his. If he had his way, no one would talk to Grimmy but _him._ That's not weird. That's not clingy. That's not exclusive.

They're spending most of Valentine's Day in France, and Nick sends him five texts before he even wakes up.

**you're in the city of love on valentine's day? you are a cliche, Harry Styles**

**a really cute cliche**

**I’m going to go make out with my pillow**

**and have a wank**

**♥♥♥ happy valentines day ♥♥♥**

Harry nearly falls out of bed giggling and before he's got a chance to open his mouth Louis' complaining about him being sickening. Later that day, Zayn and Niall will agree with Louis because Harry doesn't stop swooning over his phone. Liam thinks it's sweet. Not the wanking part, just the other stuff.

_we're actually coming back tonight, meet up around 9? :) x_

**maybe i already have a hot date? this is valentine's day after all**

_:(_

**grouchos?**

_:)_

~~~

It's cooler in London, and Nick's brought that stupid leather portfolio purse instead of an actual wallet or a normal looking bag. Harry has to be up early to record a bit for something or other, but he doesn't really care because Nick's face lit up when Harry walked into the club and he's inviting Harry back to his place in a hushed voice.

He doesn’t say no.

~~~

Harry's at home when he gets the call, staring down at his phone menacingly before him on the kitchen table. He doesn't want to send another text to Nick. He refused. He had already sent three in the past hour, with no reply. Harry felt himself slowly becoming that obsessive compulsive significant other that Nick would go out to a bar with his friends (sans Harry) and complain about as he got more and more drunk off of wine, because Nick's overdramatic and wine suits that. In the midst of his complaining, Nick will spot a cute young boy at the other end of the bar sitting alone, and Nick will catch his eye because the boy is cute and more experienced than Harry and less likely to send him several good morning texts every single day, and he doesn't have his own personal paparazzi's. Nick will knock back his shot (because Nick's not drinking wine anymore in this daydream) and he'll go walk up to the boy and say something devastatingly witty and charming and the boy will fall madly in love with him on the spot and they'll start snogging right there in front of everyone and they'll have sex and get married and leave that annoying little popstar in his dust.

Or something.

While Harry's already pondering the lyrics to a song he'll write that he's pretty sure he's ripped off from a Death Cab for Cutie song about heartache and pain, when his phone starts blaring. He jumps, nearly falling out of his seat in the process.

But instead of Nick calling, it was some number he didn't recognize. With a 161 area code. Half of him was worried that some fan had gotten his number (it wouldn't be the first time), the other half was wondering who he knew in Manchester who'd be calling him.

Whatever. He answered it. And he was glad he did.

~~~

Stella Mccartney's party at London Fashion Week was possibly the most fun Harry had ever had anywhere that the whole point was to look at clothing. He was well armed with Nick at his elbow, and Nick's mum tutting about hemlines and necklines at his other-- Harry wasn't sure which one she was talking about.

When they sat down for the dinner at 8, Harry could see that Nick was just barely holding himself together. Every couple of minutes, he'd put down his cutlery and openly stare at Kanye West, or Rihanna, before resting his forehead on Harry's shoulder, as if he couldn't hold his excitement back.

Harry tried to tell himself that it was anything other than absolutely endearing. It didn't work very well. Harry was charmed, because Nick was charming. They were really suited for each other in that sense. They were equally charmed by the other.

At least, Harry hoped so.

Later on, after the whole levitating thing with the models had already happened, Harry and the Grimshaws made their way out to the lingering people, crowding the main hall with quiet chatter and haughty laughter. Harry kept glancing at the older man, and he could tell he adored everything going on around him. Nick might be a radio host, but he was a socialite first. He'd be well suited for Gossip Girl.

Nick made his rounds around the room, pointedly ignoring any celebrities that even he couldn't muster up the courage to go and talk to ("just go talk to her, Nick!" "What, just walk up and say, 'oh hey Rih-Rih, lovin' the hair. You wanna get drinks after this'? Get real Harry!")

Most people in the room were too enamored by their own bloated sense of self-importance, and barely acknowledged the three Northerners. But an old woman, tied tight into her corseted dress, commented kindly that Harry and Nick made a very handsome couple.

"Oh, don't they just!" Nick's mum interjected from behind them, wrapping an arm around each of them. "Such a shame they haven't actually gotten together!"

Nick was looking at Harry across his mother's head, a careful look in his eyes that made Harry feel like blushing. "Me and Harry? Nah, this one's too good for me."

Later, when they've left the show and Nick's mum is on her way home and Nick's stupidly expensive suit is meticulously folded and ready for dry cleaning, Harry kisses his way up Nick's body. It's lazy and they both stink like boy and champagne, and Nick's extended presence in his life always makes Harry feel like he has extra nerve receptors on the tips of his fingers and in the curls of his hair.

"I’m not, you know," Harry murmurs, and he knows as soon as he says it that Nick doesn't have the faintest clue what he's talking about. " 'm not too good for you."

Nick huffs a laugh, and his face says _is that really relevant right now?_ "Well it's not like I’m too good for you." he says instead.

"Yes you are."

"You're insufferable. Maybe I am too good for you."

"Hey."

~~~

A few days later, Harry's nervous about the Brits. He spends a lot of his time with the boys, more so than he usually would when he doesn't necessarily need to. He avoids Nick's calls, cuts down to only texting him back a few times a day, and only sending one word answers when he does. He doesn't want Nick to have to deal with him when he's nothing but a jittery pile of nerves. Doesn't want to make Nick spend time with him, because Harry knows he's not up to having sex or being a partner in a relationship. He knows himself.

But with only days to the Brits, Nick shows up at Harry and Louis' flat with a determined look on his face. Louis slinks to his bedroom, a knowing smile on his face because he had been the one who had called Nick and told him he needed to rescue Harry.

Nick forces Harry into reasonably nice clothes, telling him he's not going out with him if he looks like a heathen. Harry protests that he doesn't want to go out at all, a point Nick completely ignores. He throws shoes at the younger boy, and is gliding out the door in a flurry of quiff.

Harry, pulling on his shoes, is helpless against it and nearly sprints after the man.

They make out in the elevator a bit, only because they haven't seen each other in a few days and Harry really forgot how much he likes to make out with Nick. When they're deposited out at the bottom, Nick guides Harry out of the building and down the street to where Aimee's parked illegally, waiting for them. They climb into the old BMW, the one that Harry thinks that they only bought because it was so old and beat up and ugly it was somehow ironic.

"Heard you've been avoiding Grimmy's calls," Aimee looks sternly at the popstar, using her serious face with a serious expression.

Harry hangs his head down, and he can feel Nick's body vibrating with a laugh because they're pressed so closely together in the backseat. "Yes ma'am."

At that, Aimee snorts. " "Ma'am", Jesus. You're dating a teenager, did you know that Grimmy?

"Hey," Harry says, in that barely audible decibel of his just as Nick calls out "not anymore, he's not!"

Aimee drives the two of them to Greenwich Peninsula and, drops them off in front of the O2 where the Brits are being held. Nick waves Aimee off, telling her that they'll be fine from then.

Taking Harry's hand firmly in his, Nick walks him up to the front doors of the arena. Inside the doors, Harry can hear people bustling inside and preparing things for the rather prestigious award show going on in little more than two days. But the outside is remarkably quiet, with no one around for as far as Harry can see.

They don't go in, they just look up at the building. Taking in sheer size of the arena looming over him, Harry starts to feel panic set in, but Nick's prepared for that. All he has to do is stroke his thumb over Harry's hand, intertwined in his for a strange sense of peace to settle into the 18 year olds very bones.

"You excited?" Nick said, after giving Harry a minute to settle his heartbeat. He spoke softly, and he delivered the words with an inflection that Harry had never heard come from the older man. He wasn't Grimmy, radio show host, DJ, and social butterfly. He was just Nicholas Peter Grimshaw, and he wanted to comfort a boy who he cared about.

"Yeah," Harry's voice was shaking, and he mentally cursed himself. But instead of laughing, or pushing him away, Nick pulled him in closer, wrapping an arm around Harry's shoulder without a word.

They stood like that. Just, staring at the building in front of them. They had both been to plenty of functions and events, and been up for even more awards, but none had felt so _important_ to Harry than the one he was currently nominated for. There was really no chance of them winning. They were up against the likes of Adele. Adele, who had never lost a fan-voted award. Ever.

But that didn't really matter, did it? There’d be other awards. Harry was sure, that as he rested his head and snuggled into the neck of his ~~boyfriend~~  that even if they did lose, it would still be okay.

~~~

They didn't lose.

It wasn't okay; it was phenomenal. Astounding. Extraordinary. Fantastic. Marvelous. Miraculous. Outstanding. Preternatural. Prodigious. Remarkable. Sensational. It was a moment unparalleled in their career up to that point.

Harry thanks Radio 1 in the acceptance speech. He holds up the award to where he knows Nick is seated, and even though he can't really see him through the spotlights shining brightly on their faces, he likes to pretend that he can see Nick jumping up and down and buzzing.

He has to go sit back down at the One Direction table, which is loaded with booze. Nick comes over anyways, but only to give them all a quick congratulations before he's shuffled back to his table.

James Corden teases Harry about loving cougars.

Nick texts him a minute after he hears it.

**james really has no idea just how right he is**

~~~

Harry gets really, really drunk. So do the rest of the boys (save for Liam). They have to be up at 10 the next day, but they've just won a _Brit Award_. 

Nick meets up with the boys at the after party in Mayfair, and Harry practically jumps into his arms in his excitement. But not too long after they’re reunited, Paul is pulling Harry gently away from the DJ, telling Harry that he needs to be getting home soon because of their early morning.

He frowns at Paul, but relents. He pats Nick on the arm, because the room is filled with cameras and eyes that are documenting One Direction’s every move.

Harry goes back to his flat. Nick turns up not 20 minutes later.

~~~

Harry sometimes thinks he falls in love frustratingly too fast.

In order for a relationship to work (or so he's heard), you need to be able to look at the person you allegedly love and understand that things won't always be perfect. That this person you're committing to is not a perfect person, and that they're gonna fuck up somewhere along the line.

Harry's in a perpetual state of heart eyes. Regardless of whom it is, or how long he's known them, the second Harry decides that he wants to give it a try he's convinced that they're his soul mate. It really fucks with him.

Minutes after the boys were put together in a boyband on X-Factor, Harry decided that he was going to be in love with Louis. That he was going to turn 18 and _marry_ Louis Tomlinson because he was so funny and hilarious and quite fit and he seemed to like Harry.

Louis' sexuality invariably got in the way. He told the newly 17 year old boy when he proclaimed his love to him that he'll always be his best friend and that he loved him, but he wasn't _in love_ with him.

The problem with falling in love too quickly is that you get your heart pulverized by people who didn't feel nearly as strongly as he. While he was busy trying to insert meaning into mundane actions and gestures performed by whoever he was currently obsessing with, they were obliviously living their own lives, and being unaware of the occasionally crushing affection of the curly haired boy.

No one in the party was ever to blame. None of them could help it.

With Nick, it was different. They were friends (just friends) first, and that really fucked with Harry's usual M.O. They had been friends and had slipped into this "Not Boyfriends" so fast that Harry didn't really have the time or the common sense to decide anything. He never consciously decided that Nick was his soul mate. Never went out of his way to put meaning in the way Nick remembered his order at Starbucks or texted him first or always knew what to say whenever Harry was feeling small, or insignificant, or overcrowded, or whatever range of emotions the average popstar must deal with.

Just, one day he was sitting with Louis and watching Louis talk to Eleanor on the phone. Louis must have felt Harry's eyes on him, because he turned and grinned at him. Harry returned it, and they just sat there grinning stupidly at each other. Because _they_ were best friends. Harry loved him, but not as anything more than what Louis could take. He wasn't in love with Louis, because he was head over heels in love with Nick.

The realization hit him in the stomach like a freighter train. The smile dropped off of his face, and Louis' brows furrowed in concern.

"Hold on El," he said, putting a hand up to the mouthpiece. "What’s wrong?"

If Harry hadn't already been sitting, he would have fallen. His knees felt weak. "I’m in love with Nick, aren't I?"

Louis stared at him for a moment, before he's cracking up and turning back to his phone. Like it’s not even something to discuss. "Did you just figure that out now, mate?"

~~~

They’re running out of time together, and they both know it. Nick leaves his phone on the bed unlocked when he gets up one morning to get Harry a cup of tea and he a coffee. Harry picks it up, because he’s drowsy and sleepy and the light is too bright for 8 am.

One Direction tour dates appear before him, and Harry has to scroll down because the list just keeps going. It’s overwhelming, and it hits him so suddenly that his eyes are welling up and his chest starts to hurt before he even realizes what is going on. He loves his job. He loves travelling. He loves being on tour.

It’s just that before now, Harry’s never been leaving anything behind. He’s never had something he was actively afraid of being without. His grasp on Nick was tenuous at best, and that was when he had the time to spend half of their time together. Nick was a breeze on a hot day, one moment he’d be there, the next he’d be gone. He didn’t know what—didn’t know how--- how could he go from a month of nearly overdosing on the man to quitting him completely?

He’s breaking down when Nick walks back in the room, yawning widely with steaming mugs in his hand. When he see’s Harry’s puffy eyes, he nearly drops the cups in his haste to rush over.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

And Nick sinking to the bed beside him and looking sad and concerned and afraid and desperate is the exact wrong thing that Harry needs right now. Harry gets teary-eyed at sad commercials, he doesn’t need the person he’s in _love with_ destroying any remaining claims to ‘keeping it together’. He throws himself at the older man, getting halfway stuck in the bedsheets in his haste to not be so achingly alone anymore. Nick catches him, nearly falling backwards onto the floor, but miraculously maintains his balance.

And Harry’s properly crying now. Awful, gut-clenching sobs that threaten to tear his lungs from his chest and out his throat. Because it’s February 23, and he needs to be in Chicago tomorrow and he knows that he’s leaving behind something that he’s always been told to never let go of. And he’s only just realized it.

Nick keeps whispering a mantra of “it’s okay” and “are you okay” and it would be funny if Harry was the type of person who could move from sorrow to joy in a heartbeat like Nick was.

Harry can’t figure out how to answer him. He doesn’t know how to articulate whatever he is feeling right now. It’s not like he thinks that he’ll forget Nick when he’s gone, or Nick will forget him. It could work. They could make it work. They could have Nick fly out between cities, and they could hold hands when the cameras weren’t looking. They could have sex in empty hotel rooms with his best friends the next room over wishing they couldn’t hear what they would be doing to each other. They could spend enough time with the other that when Nick boarded the plane back to England, their desire and their sense of loss would be diminished, even slightly.

Maybe it’s the smaller part of him that knows that they would never allow it that was making him break. Maybe it was a culmination of many things; exhaustion, stress, anger, love. Maybe he was just feeling too much. Nick had a tendency to invoke that reaction.

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. All he knew is that amidst all his sobbing, amidst all the tears and Nick’s flustered half-promises, amidst the heaves that wracked his body, only one syllable could escape quivering lips to articulate his feelings:

_“No.”_

~~~

Harry stops crying. Nick kisses the tears away, lips brushing against his cheeks and his continued quiet words batter Harry’s heart even further.

He says thank you, straightens himself out. He puts his clothes from last night back on. Ties his shoes. Fixes his hair.

They don’t have sex. Harry says goodbye. Nothing else, just goodbye.

Nick holds eye contact for longer than usual when he’s standing with him at the door, biting his lips as if he’s trying to stop himself from saying too much.

Harry’s “I Love You” is unspoken. They both hear it; neither acknowledge. Harry flees too quickly to see if it’s reciprocated.

Nick doesn’t text first. They don’t speak again until April.

~~~

March is lonely.

March is the UK leg, but it is not home. Cold mornings and cold evenings with colder days in between. Niall asks him often what’s going on with him, and Louis just watches him with a sad look on his face. A look that says, “you fucked up.”

Harry knows that, doesn’t need anyone reminding him.

They get to sleep in their own beds in the start of April because they’re playing in London, but there’s still nothing but silence from the DJ. Harry’s not sure what they’re really doing here; he didn’t expect an entire month to pass with no communication. He thought Nick would have texted by now. Thought he would have called. But now that it’s been so long, if Harry rang him up out of the blue it’d be weird. He couldn’t bring himself to admit that he missed him first.

They play in Manchester, and he knows something’s really wrong when an entire city makes him miss Nick. He briefly considers visiting Nick’s parents. Figures that’d be a bit weird, seeing as he hasn’t spoken to their son for weeks.

Harry likes April a lot better than he liked March. March seemed to drag on; April went quickly and it’s mostly because he had Australia to tide him over. It’s his second time there, and properly describing just how much he actually likes the continent is difficult for him; he is a man of few words.

So he just goes on boats and swims and sunbathes in his spare time (because it’s properly hot), and aggressively takes pictures of things that he’ll tell his mum and Nick about when he gets back home.

~~~

Not long before they’re due to come back from their Aussie leg of the tour, Harry gets a text from probably the last person he’s expecting. As the weeks passed, he had gradually lost hope that Nick would text him, and he was a little bit mortified. Nick _had_  said that he didn’t want to be involved with him when he was on tour. He told himself he was just respecting Grimmy’s wishes by not contacting him either.

That is, until Matt Fincham texts him.

~~~

Harry’s feeling pretty sheepish as he enters the bar through the back way. Not because of the secrecy, no. He’s way too used to that. He feels embarrassed because Matt Fincham is waiting inside with a probably not drunk Nick Grimshaw, who has no idea that Harry is coming. It’d be easier if he was drunk. Nick’s a sweet drunk. He gets very smiley and he can’t keep his hands off of anyone.

Harry’s not sure he’s ready to face a sober Nick after almost two months of complete silence. He’s spent the two months having conversations with Nick in his head, and compulsively planning on how he’d apologize and sweep Nick off his feet again. He never got very far after “get him drunk.” Thus why he hadn’t spoken to him in two months.

But Matt had said that Nick was irritable and grumpy all the time. Said how he’d always complain about pop-culture references, and that he’d become a bit of a recluse, but that he’d been extra chatty lately, and would linger in the studio longer than he really needed to be.

That he seemed lonely.

Harry hadn’t really needed any more convincing than that, and he arranged to meet Matt and Nick at a bar the night he returned from tour. He was absolutely exhausted, and he had spilt a bit of his lunch on his jumper, but there he was, slinking into the practically deserted bar.

He saw Nick before Nick saw him. And Matt had been right, he did look different. It was almost imperceptible, and Harry was sure that he would not have noticed if he had seen Nick everyday for the past little while. He looked a bit thinner, his cheeks just a bit more drawn and his skin stretching tighter over his jaw. His quiff looked a bit deflated and frazzled, as if he had been running his hand through it too much. He was wearing an old cardigan that Harry liked to steal, and he was wearing those fake, stretchy jeans. They were a good imitation, but Harry had helped him buy them and had made fun of him for buying jeggings enough that he could recognize them even from a distance.

He had 5 seconds to observe Nick before the older man noticed him lurking in the doorway.

Grimmy’s eyebrows popped up, and his mouth fell open. He was in the middle of what looked like a rather heated conversation with Matt, but the second he saw Harry it was like the producer simply ceased to exist.

Harry was glued to his spot. He could barely breathe, let alone walk over.

Nick blinked once, then twice. Something softened in his expression, and he nodded once before sliding off of the barstool. Harry could see his adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he closed in on Harry, arms outstretched and ready to engulf him before he was even halfway to him. Briefly, very briefly, Harry suspected that the man was going to attack him, or slap him, or knee him in the groin.

He didn’t. The second he was within reach, Nick’s arm closed around him and he was breathing in hair gel and chanel.

~~~

They've settled themselves down at the bar, ignoring everyone and everything around them. Harry sort of thinks that it's a fitting metaphor for their entire relationship. Matt Fincham's fucked off somewhere, and the bar is pretty empty to begin with. This is not a place where young singles go to get wasted and have sex with someone in the bathroom. This is a bar where sad people go to drink away their troubles. The dinginess is irrelevant when the drinks keep flowing.

Harry orders a pint, but doesn't drink it when he receives it. He and Nick are just sitting there beside the other, each completely silent as they stare at their hands.

Harry doesn't know what to say. Doesn't know how to begin. Nick may have hugged him, but that's not a good enough indicator of how he feels about him. Nick hugs everyone. Doesn't mean he wants to be with them.

"So," Nick's voice sounds cracked and he sounds weak. "How was your trip? Australia, huh?"

Harry twists his body to look at the man. "It was okay. It's very hot there."

Nick's looking back at him, and Harry sees his eyes move across his body. "You're all tan."

"I got a spray-on."

Nick snorts, but looks threateningly at Harry, as if he hadn't meant to laugh. "You're an idiot."

Harry looks back down at his hands, and they're quiet again. The sounds of clinking glasses and quiet conversation surround them, and Harry feels just as lonely as he ever did. He wants to reach out and kiss the man, or put an arm around him, or fix his quiff, or something but that's something he doesn't feel like he can do. Nick feels closed off. Private. Out of bounds.

"Fincham told me I should talk to you." Nick says it so quietly, that Harry's half-convinced that he's only imagined it. He peeks through his lashes at the DJ, and Nick's tapping a coaster against the bar.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The tapping increases in tempo. "I think he thinks I like you, or somewhat."

Harry's breathing matches the taps. "What an idea."

"I know, right?" Nick takes a deep breath, and flicks the coaster back onto the bar, and he turns to face Harry. He reaches out and spins Harry so they're looking directly at each other. Harry frowns, but before he can ask what Nick's doing, the man continues. "And initially, I told him that he's a sod, but then I realized that this vile thing he's accusing me of isn't at all that appalling."

At Nick's expectant look, Harry's frown just deepens. "I don't quite follow."

Nick chuckles, and he quickly sweeps a finger down Harry's face. "What I'm saying is, I like you."

Nick's still looking at him, but now he looks like he thinks he's just solved world hunger. He looks so unbelievably pleased with himself, and Harry can't tell if he wants to kiss the smile off his face or punch it off.

"You like me?" Harry repeats, and he's never heard himself sound more unsure and meek.

Nick's grin starts to falter, and that's what makes Harry's mind up for him. He hasn't seen this man for days and days and days, and he doesn't want him to frown. He doesn't want him to be unhappy, and he wants nothing more than to make Nick feel good.

Harry leans into Nick's hand, which is still stroking his face. He closes his eyes, and he can't stop a smile from growing on his own face. "Good thing I like you too."

"I know it's not much," Nick continues, and it's easier to smile when he can't see his face. "But it's all I have to offer you."

This startles Harry. He opens his eyes, and catches Nick's. "Do you mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"You're offering... you?"

Grimmy grimaces, and he looks puzzled. "Is that what you want?"

All at once, a sense of nearly overwhelming fondness surges through the younger man's body. The time apart had done nothing to lessen those feelings, as Harry had both been dreading and hoping for. In lieu of having Nick actually be there with him, he had started to simply entertain the notion of an imaginary Grimmy  that he could think about whenever he missed him. When Matt had contacted him, he was so caught up in this shadow of the man before him, that he had been nervous that he had made Nick out to be something better in his head.

He didn't. Real Nick was better than fake Nick. And if Nick's offering himself to be his _boyfriend_ , he's going to take this for what it is; a gift beyond what his imagination ever could have possibly cooked up.

"It's all I ever wanted." Harry tells him truthfully, and their smiles are mutually brilliant.

~~~

Harry texts his mum.

_okay. i have a boyfriend. ;P_


	2. their hearts don't beat like ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry loves Nick, a lot more than Nick loves Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of 4, and it took me decades to finish. 
> 
> Title taken from The World is Ugly by My Chemical Romance, because :(. Also, the part in Spain? That was totally self-indulgent beach stuff that I wrote in even though it really goes against the actual TL. And you might be able to tell that I really like dialogue.
> 
> Disclaimer: This probably didn't happen.

_These are the eyes and the lies of the taken_   
_These are their hearts but their hearts don’t beat like ours_   
_They burn ‘cause they are all afraid_   
_When mine beats twice as hard_   
  
_‘Cause the world is ugly_   
_But you’re beautiful to me_   
_Are you thinking of me_   
_Like I’m thinking of you_

 

**Part Two - Lovers**

 

May brings days upon days in the studio, navigating the streets of Sweden and trying to stay out of the limelight. Harry is used to the grind by now, and he is able to successfully juggle his professional life and his personal one seamlessly.

When he’s in the studio singing his part for the new album, he thinks about Nick when he sings the parts about sex, he thinks about Nick when he sings the parts about partying, and he thinks about Nick when he sings the parts about love. When he’s not singing, he’s still probably thinking about Nick.

He’s become obsessive, and he might as well accept it and try and keep others from really noticing. But he’ll still leave the recording booth, and immediately check his phone to find out if Nick has replied to him yet and that’s likely a bit suspicious.

Nick calls Harry one day when he is recording, and he leaves a message on his voicemail scolding him for ignoring him, and then sings a bit of One Thing. Listening to the sound of Nick wailing out the lyrics right into the mouthpiece, Harry vows to never shut his phone off again.

Which would be problematic if Nick didn’t have impeccable timing in calling only when Harry was available, because Nick always respected Harry’s timetable.

He and the boys go out on the town in Sweden one night, because Niall’s insisting. Getting into a club undetected is always a whole ordeal, and this isn’t an exception.

But they get in, and girls smile at him and laugh loudly at his jokes, even though he knows that none of them actually hear him over the music.

The clubbing scene isn’t really his favourite at the moment. It’s only really fun when he can pick someone up and have sex with them in the bathroom at the club.

Hey. That’s an idea. When he gets back to London, he should corner Nick in a club bathroom.

The night ends with he, Liam and Zayn supporting a very drunk Niall and Louis. It’s a good night.

~~~

"And I told her I didn't want any of that ultra cool, ultra vegan pretentious sauce that generally comes with the sandwich, right? Because as a carnivore, I reserve the right to not have tofu sauce, or whatever it is they put on them."

"You're an omnivore."

"Shut up Harry, you should know I have a preference for lean meats."

The curly haired boy smirked, holding the phone up to his ear by using only his shoulder as he juggled the tray of expensive foreign coffees in his hands. He was busy buying everyone their bloody coffee because they had grown sick of him giggling around the studio and generally not accomplishing anything. So much for seamless balancing.

Naturally, he had called Nick as soon as he was out the door.

Nick was going on and on about sandwiches at some hipster travelling kitchen that you had to be cool and in the know to even locate, and Harry wasn't really listening to anything except the sound of his voice in his ear.

"--and they get the owner of this shack thing, and he starts screaming right in my face because by asking for a slight adjustment to my meal, I've insulted the integrity of his entire staff. I told 'im I didn't have time for this, and that I've got a rich lawyer husband who'll swoop down and sue if they don't just modify it. Needless to say, I'm not allowed back there."

Harry shook his head, shivering slightly because it may be warm, but Sweden is unbelievably windy.

"Hey, listen." Harry interrupts what he knows will be another spiel about how much Nick didn't want to be there to being with. "I miss you."

"Aww," Nick jeers, and Harry rolls his eyes. "You're adorable. I saw you literally a week ago."

"A week is a long time," Harry protests, but he's not at all offended. It's sort of Nick's thing to make fun of him. It's sort of Nick's thing to make fun of everyone and anyone. He's the master of sly digs.

"In puppy years, it is." Nick allows, and Harry can hear him rustling around himself. He knows that Nick always moves around while taking phone calls, because he wants to sound busy and important. He's probably just moving around his kitchen wearing nothing by dirty trackies, though. "How long are you in the lovely Sweden for?"

"Until the 16th. I think." Harry shrugs, before realizing Nick can't actually see him. He's getting closer to the studio, and he can hear the faint sounds of the girls camped outside to catch a glance at One Direction. They're unaware that there's an entrance in the back of the building beside the studio that they sneak through.

"Ah. Not too long then?" Nick offers.

"Guess not." Harry makes sure not to say anything else, leaving the space open for Nick to talk.

"Is it very boring there?"

"Yeah, super." Harry sighs dramatically, ignoring all of the fun he and the lads have already had.

"Hm. Well I  _guess_  I could come up there this weekend, or something. If you really wanted."

"Yes. I really do."

~~~

Harry tells Paul that they needs to collect Grimmy at the airport, and Paul tells him that he can't, but that Paul will go and get him. Harry resists the urge to protest this; but he understands the need for secrecy.

Harry thinks Nick's flight will come in that night, so he's surprised when Nick comes striding into the studio, all long legs and tall hair in the middle of the day. Harry's in the middle of singing, and his eyes nearly pop out of his head when he spots him. Nick twiddles his fingers at the glass separating them, and starts chatting animatedly with the rest of the boys, who all seem as enthralled to see him as Harry.

When Harry finally is released from the box, he nearly trips over his own feet in his haste to get to Nick. He's grinning as he leaps onto the man's back, who hadn't seen him coming.

Nick nearly falls flat on his face, and Niall and Louis can't stop laughing at the shocked expression on his face.

"I had some clever line thought up for when you came out of the booth, but your brutal attack made me forget it." Nick complained, after he had twisted around so that Harry was latched onto his front instead of his back.

Harry beams. "Another dig thwarted by my superior intellect."

"Have you been reading a dictionary whilst in Sweden? You sound suddenly like not an 18 year old boy."

Niall's convulsing on the floor even though the exchange isn't particularly funny. Harry and Nick both look at the blonde fondly; an easy audience always makes things easier.

"Anywho," Nick turns back to Harry, kissing him quickly on an exposed dimple. "How're you love?"

Harry blushes, because his boys are watching and they’re acting all couple-y. " 'm good. Better now."

Louis lets out a noise that is a mixture between a snort and a groan. "Oh god. I didn't think it could get any worse. I was wrong."

Nick's got a confused smile on his face as he watches Harry chuck an empty coffee cup at the boy. "Sorry?"

Louis' caught the cup, and his smile is angelic as he ruthlessly stabs Harry in the back. "Harry does not stop talking about you. It's a constant stream of Nick Grimshaw. He could write your biography, mate."

Harry glares, Nick's eyebrows are rising to join his quiff, but he just shakes his head exasperatedly. "He's obsessed, I know."

"Hey." Harry steps away from Nick, straightening up haughtily. "I don't like either of you."

"That's a lie." Niall chimes in, and Louis high fives him with a merry cheer.

"You're all awful," Harry grumbles sourly. "I'm leaving the band and starting a new life as a circus performer, where people will appreciate me."

"What you gonna do in the circus, love? 'Harry Styles: The Four Nippled Wonder'?" Nick quips.

At that moment, Louis is being called into the recording booth. With one last look at the two of them, he smirks. "Not that you'd know, eh Grimshaw? Our Harry here's got some virtue. Wouldn't take his top off ever."

"He's a regular blushing bride." Nick agrees solemnly. He waits for Louis to depart, then turns to the remaining boys in the room. "But really. I think I've spent more time with Harry when he has his clothes off than on."

Liam shakes his head, crinkly smile in place. "That doesn't sound like something I want to hear about."

"Not something I want to talk about, either." Harry interjects, still glaring at everyone in the room.

"Strong impersonation of an angry pup. I think you might be in the wrong field, love. Acting's for you."

"Shut  _up_  Nick."

~~~

They go back to the hotel room that they're all sharing, and the rest of the boys are leaving Harry and Nick alone with much exaggerated haste. Harry feels resentful: it's not like he and Nick are animals that can't stop mating. And a tiny part of him wants to force Nick and the rest of his band to spend time together. He wants them to co-exist and joke together and he wants to bring Nick to functions and he wants them to have his back when he does.

"Do you like them?" Harry asks suddenly, looking thoughtfully down at Nick.

The man quirks a smile, picking his head up to look at Harry. "Have you been thinking of the rest of One Direction this entire time? You wound me."

"Shut up," Harry blushes, and snuggles into the sheets of the bed more securely. Nick wiggles his eyebrows at him, then starts to move back down Harry's body. Nick sometimes does this when he hasn't seen Harry in awhile and when he's feeling particularly cheeky. He'll kiss each and every few inches of Harry's skin, murmuring greetings like, "hello Harry's earlobe," and "oh hiya clavicles." He never makes it all the way down from Harry’s lips to the bottom of his feet. Nick always gets a bit too distracted when he hits a certain external organ.

"Not that I don't enjoy your strange worshipping of my hipbones," Harry bridges again after a couple moments of cooing, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "But yeah. Do you like them?"

Nick shrugged, and he sat back on his bum, long legs folded awkwardly between Harry's almost painfully stretched thighs. It looked like he had given birth to a hairy 27 year old man. "They're alright as far as boyband members go. But I promised myself long ago that my only exception to my strict 'no boybanders' rule was you."

"Twat," Harry poked him with his big toe in the side, which made Nick unwillingly giggle. 

"No!" Nick snapped, trying and failing to look threatening. Harry sat up all the way, and quickly fell forward so he was lying halfway on top of him, grabbing at Nick's sides ferociously.

Just as Nick was nearly crying from laughter, someone bursts through adjoining door to Liam and Zayn's room. The two freeze, and look to the door in unison.

Louis brashly strides into the room, unseeing. "What are you doing to--"

Louis’ eyes nearly pop out of his head, and he actually starts going a bit red. But he doesn’t move, and doesn’t stop staring for a moment. He opens his mouth, but no further sound escapes. 

Finally, Louis manages to clear his throat. "Oh. Uh, right then. I’m just gonna…yes. Bye.”

~~~

"What are we doing here, Styles? This seems dangerous."

"We're going to have sex here."

"That also sounds dangerous."

It must be two in the morning. Harry switches on the lights to the recording studio. He had swiped the keys from Paul, figuring that no one would really mind unless they got papped doing this. And even if they did, he could always just claim that he was getting his old pal Grimmy to give the new One Direction tunes a listen. He could spot the obvious flaws in that plan, but he would take the chances.

"Oh, come _on._ Where's your sense of adventure?" Harry sits down on the edge of a sound board, and looked at his lover with a 'come hither' expression.

Nick doesn’t look convinced. "That is some expensive machinery you're proposing we get sloppy on. What if you get spunk on some knobs?"

"If I promise not to make a knob joke, will you have sex with me?"

"You're absolutely shameless, aren't you?" Nick starts walking closer to Harry, nonetheless. He looks down at the seated boy, his brown eyes looking even darker than normal.

"Yes." Harry breathes, because he wasn't so articulate at the best of times, least of all when his brain is attempting to function with a significant loss of blood. He reaches a hand out, grabbing onto Nick's sleeve and tugging him closer.

"Tell me what you like." Nick murmurs, stepping in between Harry's thighs. He rests his forehead on Harry's, and the younger man could feel a few strands of dislodged quiff tickle his skin.

"I like you," Harry replies earnestly, pressing forward to seal their lips. Nick put a finger up against Harry's mouth.

"No, tell me what you _like._ What are you into, besides the obvious exhibitionism and your desire to have sex in your place of work?"

Harry huffs a breath, cross that he was expected to think at a time like this. "Like... fetishes?"

Nick smirks. "If you've got one, I suppose. But there's a difference between fetishes and kinks young Harold."

"Like?"

"A fetish is attraction to something that’s not usually sexual, and you can’t get off without it. Like, for example." Nick is still grinning dirtily at him, pupils blown wide. "A foot fetish. Two Girls One Cup. Not judging if you do.” Harry grimaces, but nods intently. "And kinks are just.. fantasies. Blindfolds. Cock rings. Sexy clothes. You know, the lot. What are you into, Harry Styles?"

He gulps. "I... I dunno."

"Oh please," Nick tilts his face to the side, still rested against Harry's forehead. His hands begin to drift downwards, tracing over the bones of Harry's ribcage and down. "We've been pretty vanilla in bed, but. I know there's more in that filthy little head of yours."

Harry can’t breathe. Something had caught in his throat, but he can't move a muscle to cough it out, or something equally embarrassing. This was so like Nick, to completely take control of a situation and turn it around on Harry. He had been so calm, so confident, and now he was a shuddering mess.

At Nick's continued gaze, Harry finally forces air from his lungs. "I haven't really done anything... like that."

"That's the point of me asking. You ask, we maybe give it a try."

“So, if I told you I wanted to dress up like a baby and suck on a pacifier, you’d go for it?” Harry teases, but it falls a bit flat.

Nick, surprisingly shrugs. “I suppose. This is a no judgement zone. Excluding anything regarding fecal matter. That’s where I draw my personal line.”

“Please stop talking about poo.”

This elicits a loud, throaty laugh from Nick, before he feigns locking his lips and throwing away the key. He immediately begins speaking again. “Anyways. Tell me, Styles. What is your darkest fantasy? And don’t lie, I’ll be able to tell.” He gestures down to where his thigh was close enough to Harry’s crotch that he could feel his member through his jeans.

“Guess?”

“Hm,” the hint of laughter was gone from Nick’s expression, and he leered at the younger man. “I’ve always thought just by looking at you, that you’d be into some strange shit.”

Harry coughs a bewildered laugh. “What?!” He asks, exaggeratedly.

Despite Harry’s seemingly offended reaction, Nick smirks down at him. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re always whinging about ‘harder!’ and ‘oh god nick, you perfect man, hold me down and ravage my nubile young body!’”

Harry starts to protest, before cutting himself off. He wasn’t going to object to Nick holding him down. Maybe roughing him up a bit. Bruises on his ribs the shape of hands and busted lips. Being put on display for all those to see, to see the scrapes and love bites littering his skin and seeing how desperately he wanted it. Hands secured above his head, bound and gagged (and stuck like a pig). Being completely helpless against Nick, and that always perceptible underlay of trust being the salve to the fear of things going too far. There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?

In all honesty, Harry thinks that Nick has it all confused. Asking Harry to decide what they could do to get him off is almost totally pointless. Harry’s happy if Nick’s happy.

And Harry is very, very happy right now. Nick is moving against his thigh, just slow enough that it could be an accident, but Harry knows it isn't. It's rubbing against him in just the right way that Harry wants more.

"C'mon, lets just do it." Harry urges, hands going to the collar of his own shirt and trying to pull it over his head.

Nick catches his hand. "No," he articulates firmly. "Not until you tell me what you want."

"I want you." Harry replies honestly, trying to shake his wrist of Nick's grasp. It's not giving, though, and it sort of hurts.

Nick's smirk doesn't lessen. "What else do you want?" He squeezes, and Harry winces.

"I want _you,_ " he whines again. He knows what Nick's asking of him, but he doesn't want to verbalize it.

Shaking his head, Nick's other hand creeps up Harry's side and he grabs a hold of Harry's jaw. "Harry." He says warningly.

The younger boy shakes his head, struggling to move his neck through how tightly Nick's holding him.

Nick stares at him for a moment, an unfathomable look behind his eyes. He's seemingly waiting for Harry to say something. When Harry doesn't, he drops his hands and steps away from Harry all at once. His face smooths out into something more friendly, more approachable than the previous smoldering.

Harry's confused, and he moves forward as Nick moves back as if they're attached by a string. "What are you doing?"

Nick smiles sweetly. Harry can't tell if it's meant to be reassuring, or bitchy. "I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want to."

Harry lets out a small cry of dismay and scuttles forward as Nick turns his back and starts walking away. "No, Nick!"

He swirls around, and their faces are inches apart again. "What do you _want_ Harry?"

Harry steels himself, and takes a deep breath. He starts sinking onto his knees, in the middle of the room and onto the hardwood flooring that his knees immediately protest against. But he ignores it, grasping onto Nick's knees so the man can't possibly escape.

"I want you to fuck my throat."  Harry finally admits, and he feels like he's in a porno. He fumbles with Nick's button and zipper for a few seconds, not giving Nick the chance to protest. "I want you to gag me and make me choke, and then I want you to bend me over the soundboard and I want it to hurt. I want that."

“I think I can manage that,” Nick murmurs, annoyingly coherent for someone whose dick is being swallowed down, down, down.

~~~

Harry inhales through his nose carefully, focusing on the individual sensations instead of it as a whole; hoping it would make him feel less buried in it all.

Goosebumps shooting down his spine.

Soft skin under his fingertips with tiny hairs resisting against his movement.

Heavy breathing in his ear, hot in his neck.

Feeling filled, that wonderful stretch that managed to be both bitter and so, so sweet.

He can’t think of anything but the freckles across Nick's face, nuzzling the crease of his neck. He could differentiate between each of Grimmy's moans; the ones that meant he was close and the ones that meant he was going to change his pace, and the ones that reassured Harry that he was not the only one who was feeling overwhelmed.

It’s sweaty and sexy and Nick keeps pushing Harry’s head down as he’s fucking him bent over the dials and buttons of the soundboard. Harry comes on the floor, and stars gloss over his eyes he shuts his eyes so incredibly tight.

~~~

Each encounter with Nick was similar, but each felt as if he were a teenager being touched for the very first time. And that's what he loved about Nick. He made him feel young, but not inexperienced or unimportant. He made him feel the right amount of mature, without forgetting to sit back and just have a laugh.

He could go on and on for days about the different reasons why he liked Nick. One day, he'll write them down in a list and give it to him. Maybe in his memoirs.

When they return from Sweden, Harry drives Nick to work on the 19th, after spending the night in bed together just cozying up and cuddling in front of Nigella on the plasma screen Nick had put in his room. They didn't have sex, because Nick was exhausted and he told Harry that his dick was all chafed since Sweden. He needed a break from Harry's copious teenage hormones.

" 'm flattered," he had said, before patting Harry on the bum as he sent him off to get the laptop so they could order pizza. "Can't keep your hands off me."

Harry didn't disagree. When their pizza arrived, Nick fed Harry gooey slices of cheese, making their kisses greasy and slimy.

Nick needs to go in at noon that day for a meeting or something and Harry drives him there in the range rover. He's only too happy to, and Nick kisses his hand before he gets out of the car with a newspaper over his head to protect him from the torrential downpour.

Harry loiters in front of the studio for a few more moments than are specifically necessary, considering his options. He could call up one of the boys, and go out with them. Honestly, Harry sometimes felt a bit off balance when he was away from his bandmates. He loves spending time with Nick, loves it more than he's ever loved spending time with anyone else in his life.

It's just that, it's always strange going from 24/7 contact with a handful of people to virtually none. They're like a phantom limb; he can feel them even after they've gone.

In the end, he settles for calling Zayn and chatting with him for a few minutes with his handfree dash as he drives back to Nick's flat. He should probably go home for a shower and a change of clothing, but the idea of waiting, all sprawled out on Nick's bed for when he got home made him so jumpy that he needed to head there straight away.

He's also got a North American tour he's going to be leaving for in just a couple of days, but Harry determinedly puts that out of his mind.

Aimee was there when he arrived. He had always liked Aimee, but he didn't really know what to say to the woman when Nick wasn't there to steer the conversation and soak up all the excess attention. He settles for making  both of them a fry up, chatting about America and places they’ve visited and both want to visit. Aimee makes a face when Harry starts using _we_ instead of I, and they both know he’s referring to Nick when he says “we want to go to Puerto Plata” or “we think Australia is charming.”

Aimee goes to take Thurston for a walk and Harry heads to Nick’s bedroom. His belly is full and he’s got nowhere to go and no obligations for a few days, and he wants to spend the entirety of those days in bed. With Nick, preferably, but he can’t win them all.

He lounges on Nick’s bed, Egyptian cotton sheets probably having a higher thread count than he has hair on his head. He fiddles with his phone for a moment, replies to a few messages that he’s received since 5 minutes ago when he last checked his phone. There’s no messages from Nick, though, and he’s feeling reminiscent so he flicks through the photos he’s meticulously categorized in his phone albums. He’s named the album “fuck off” because Nick keeps stealing his phone and making fun of the entire album of selfies of the two of them.

He finds a picture he took of Nick sleeping when the two of them were in Sweden. Harry’s head is against Nick’s, so close their cheekbones are touching and he’s just laying there grinning on the white hotel sheets of their bed.

He remembers how hard Nick had been that night, and how Harry walked with a waddle for the next few hours, and if his hand slips down his pants and he jerks off to the memory of touch, that’s entirely unimportant.

~~~

Nick arrives home what feels like seconds after Harry’s finally fallen asleep. There’s sunlight streaming in the blackout curtains somehow, and Harry’s disgruntled as he squints his eyes against the brightness.

Nick’s not talking much, which is unusual. He looks thoughtful, and he keeps pulling his bracelets around his wrists nervously. Harry sits up in bed, just as Nick pulls off his cardigan and sits beside him.

“What’s wrong, babe?” Harry asks earnestly, placing a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

Nick doesn’t look at him. “What? Nothing’s wrong.”

“Nick.”

“It’s not a thing, just some radio 1 news.”

Nick tries to shift away, to push Harry’s arm off of him, but Harry readjusts with him. He rests his forehead on the man. “News? Haven’t been sacked, have you?”

The man laughs, but it still sounds hollow and nervous. “No, they couldn’t get rid of me if they paid me to stay away. It’s just…”

“What?”

“Chris Moyles is retiring.”

“Breakfast Show Chris Moyles?”

“The very same.”

“Oh,” Harry offers, and he feels rather useless. Nick’s mentioned once or twice how much he’d love to host the Breakfast Show. How he’s wanted it since he was just a kid. Harry knows how it feels to have everything he’s ever wanted suddenly be a possibility. He’s probably the absolute worst person to be giving advice or comfort about this, because he actually achieved it. He can only be helpful it Nick is actually offered the gig, which isn’t guaranteed.

“Yeah.” Nick sighs, and he falls down onto his back, bringing Harry with him. “Yeah.”

~~~

Harry has a flight the next day. Nick kisses like he’s drowning and Harry is the air. Slowly, deeply, he sucks the breath from his lungs, removing the carbon dioxide so Harry’s left lightheaded with oxygen and love.

With kiss swollen lips, Nick promises Harry that it’s not going to be like last time. That Nick’s not going to change his mind. That he’s going to wait for Harry, and he’s not going to let a fear of repercussions or commitment or anything like that stop him this time around.

Harry’s desperate for it by the time he finally takes Harry, and he’s falling apart and unravelling faster than Nick can sew together again.

~~~

Touring alternates between being too hot, and being too loud. Sometimes both, and Harry’s quite sure he never again wants to go to Houston or anywhere farther south than West Virginia.

And Nick keeps his promise, because spring is turning into summer and Nick’s still calling and answering the phone everyday, no matter how difficult and annoying time zones can be. Talking to a drowsy Nick is Harry’s absolute favourite. His speech starts to slur, and he’s a bit slower and bit less sharp than a completely awake and alert Nick. The man borders on being rude half the time he’s talking to Harry, but not when he’s under piles of blankets and about to drift into dreamland.

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. And while singing onstage is incredible, he’s sure that nothing would ever be as much as a rush as when he’s finally able to see Nick again.

~~~

"So I've seen some pictures."

They have apparently moved right past formal greetings now, and Harry supposes that's alright because these long distance phone calls are costing him a fortune.

"Oh?" He says, non-committal, because Nick could be talking about one of a million things, and one of a million pictures.

"Of all you having a merry Canadian time at Niagara Falls."

"Oh, yeah." Harry smiles, shaking his hair out. He spreads himself out further on the bed, and shoos Niall, lingering in the doorway, out of the room. Niall makes kissing noises at him, which he resolutely ignores. "It was loads of fun. Water can be cool. Was thinking of going in a barrel over the falls."

"Yeah? Sounds like a very good idea. You'd probably pull off the drowned popstar look quite well."

"I'd haunt you."

"You'd drip on my carpets. You'd ruin them."

"I hate your carpets. They're ugly."

"They're carpets. Hate is a very strong emotion for interior decorating."

"Yeah, well. I hate 'em. And I'd haunt you."

Nick finally laughs, and Harry can almost see how he'd be shaking his head exasperatedly. "Anyways, I saw that the lovely One Direction girlfriends were invited, but not me. I'm gutted."

Harry sighs, because oh that's what Nick's calling for. "I wish I could've flown you out. Trust me, I tried."

"Do your management not appreciate the elderly, and rather hairy and annoying bird on your arm?"

"No," Harry stretches his toes out, and the hand not holding the phone drifts down to his pants. Maybe he can get Nick to have phone sex with him. "They don't approve of the mature, sexy, and experienced bloke I've been shagging. Shame, really. Wish he were here right now."

"Hmm," Nick's voice dropped to a purr. "Sounds a bit like you're coming onto me, Styles."

"And if I were?" Harry challenges, and his hand has slipped under his jeans now. The playful teasing is what gets him the most.

"Well, I'd probably offer to help you get off with my sexy, made for radio voice if it weren't half three in London."

"Nooo," Harry is whining, but doesn't much care. His hand is already down his pants. Does Nick know how much effort it is to get past the tightness of his jeans? "Orgasms before bed. I'll do that breathy thing you like."

This scandalizes the DJ. "I do not like that breathy little whimper you make when you're about to come. I don't like you at all. Go wank by yourself."

Chuckling, Harry's got a half-hearted grasp on his still confined cock. "Mm, is that an order? Want me to go in the corner and think about what I did?"

"You are an absolute menace, Harry Styles." Nick says in an obnoxious voice, before going on significantly more growly. "What are you wearing, then?"

"White button up, black jeans."

"You touching yourself?"

"Yep."

"Good. Take your kit off."

Harry happily obliges, casting a furtive look the unlocked door. With his luck, someone would come barging in at any moment. "Should I take off my shirt, too?

"No. Keep it on." Nick's voice sounds a bit croaky, and Harry briefly feels bad for keeping him up so late. The feeling passes, though, as he squirms out of his jeans and pants and tosses them across the room in a pile.

"Okay. I'm ready." The collar on his button up feels too stiff. The material is thick, and he can feel himself start to sweat, even though there are goose bumps arising in anticipation.

Nick is quiet for a minute, making Harry a bit antsy. He can hear the man breathing in the earpiece, as if he's carefully considering what to say next. Harry twists around under the scratchy blankets, and his movements are a bit frantic and rushed. "Nick." He says after a moment, testing to make sure that Nick hasn't actually fallen asleep on the phone with him.

"What are you going to think of?" Nick's voice is positively _dripping_ with lust, and it catches the popstar off guard. It's just what he needs.

"You," Harry admits immediately, and he moves the phone to balance on his shoulder and pillow so he has two hands free. "You touching me. Your lips on me, your tongue."

"Hm," Nick says. "What would you want me to do to you, Harry? If I were there?"

"Want you to crawl up to me on the bed," Harry takes a firm hold on the base of his dick with one hand, moving his other one up and down and over the slit. "Want you to lick me out."

"Rimming?" Nick asks, and it would almost sound inquisitive if he too wasn't making soft little grunting noises that told Harry he wasn't the only one with his hands down his pants. "We've never done that before."

Harry somehow shrugs, still moving his hands over his cock furiously. He spits on his hand. " 'm curious."

"How about when you come back, we'll try it out." Nick allows, and Harry's teeth catch on his lip. "You'll come back from America, and we'll do whatever you want. I'll spread your legs and lick you out. God you look so pretty all spread out for me."

Harry moans, but remembers that the boys are just in the room over. He pulls one hand reluctantly away, and he bites on his wrist to prevent him from making more noise. "Nick," he chokes out around his own flesh. "I want you here so bad."

"Want to be there, oh God. Want to be there to-- eugh-- fuck you before you fall asleep, then again in the morning. After breakfast. During tea. All the time."

Harry's frenetically thrusting into his own hand, and he's barely holding back long, pornographic moans with his teeth clenched into his skin. He has his feet planted firmly in the mattress, and every couple of seconds he'll raise his lower half off the bed, then promptly slam back down. He works his thumb over the head of his cock furiously, precome making the ache of jerking off almost dry lessen.

He's breathing loudly, and he's got just enough sense in his mind to make sure he makes it breathy and wheezy in the way that he knows Nick loves.

Nick comes just a few seconds after Harry does. They stay quiet on the phone for a moment, listening to the other's breathing slowly return to normal. Nick says goodnight to his favourite popstar, tells him he forgives him for not inviting him to Niagara Falls, then hangs up.

Harry's left with a sticky belly, a ruined shirt, and a sense of thorough dissatisfaction, although he can't figure out a cause.

~~~

They go from Toronto, all the way down to Mexico, from Los Angeles and then finally to Sunrise, Florida. They’re all so fucking tired; Niall’s been complaining about his knee with regularity, which concerns them all. Niall isn’t a complainer. It’s so fucking hot, and so fucking loud, and so fucking lonely even though there’s so fucking many people everywhere they look. Harry tries his hardest to not take it for granted and be happy- they’re touring the United States, for god’s sake- but he just can’t do it. He sweats through his shirts onstage, and he’s slowly going deaf probably, and he misses his mum and his life back in the United Kingdom where it wasn’t so bloody hot all the time.

June’s awful, but by the time the final show comes around he’s sad and he’s a bit teary eyed because it’s the final show. The crowd seems extra loud, and he inhales it and takes a mental picture of it so he can reflect on it later. Because he’s got such an amazing life, hasn’t he?

The rest of the boys are headed for flights back to the UK what seems like the second they’ve finished the encore, but Harry’s got other plans. He says goodbye to them at the gate, then turns around and goes and hops on his own flight. He’d had a hard time convincing everyone to even let him do this, but he and Nick had plans and he wasn’t giving up on them.

~~~

"Why do you always smell so good?"

They hadn't seen each other in person for months. Harry had been away, constantly away and it was driving him absolutely crazy. Being away from his life, his home, his family, his friends.

Away from Nick. 

"Showering regularly helps."

When Harry had finally gotten off the stupid airplane, he met with the escort his management had arranged for him. The man took his bags from him, and brought him back to the tinted black car and to the ferry for the second part of his journey. Harry, while he generally resented being controlled by his management company, couldn’t help but appreciate it. There was no way he’d be able to navigate through the streets of Spain, and make his way to one of the Balearic Islands at night and not get hopelessly lost.

"Shut up. No, I mean. You always smell SO good. Give me your secrets."

"I absorb good smells through mitosis. It permeates my skin." 

Harry had been eventually been dropped off at the doorstep of the luxurious beachside villa they rented, without bothering to text or call or anything. Nick would be expecting him.

"That--- that doesn't even make any sense. You're actually impossible."

"Can't live with me, can't live without."

"I could so live without you. I lived quite a long span of time without you, in fact. Since birth."

Harry flew into Nick’s arms, pushing them back and out of view of the driver behind them as he quietly set Harry’s bags outside the front of the door. He must have left, but Harry wasn’t paying much attention. About 90% of his mind was focussing on Nick Nick Nick, and the rest of him was trying to judge their surroundings while keeping his tongue shoved down his boy’s throat.

"You were miserable. You always sensed that there was something missing. You just didn't know what it was until I backflipped into your life."

"Backflipped?" 

They had tripped over their clothing as they pulled it off each other, tongues swirling and lips sucking with surgical precision. The floors were white and cold under their feet, and the halls were long and tastefully decorated. Harry had been away for a few months. He was used to the incessant string of "wantwantwant" for Nick stewing in his brain stem. He wasn't accustomed to his wishes being granted.

"I don't do anything half-arsed. I notice you don't disagree with my original statement."

"I disagree."

"No you don't. Without me, you wouldn't know how to smell really good."

"But you still haven't told me!" 

They had fucked beside a wicker couch when they couldn't make it any further than the sitting room floor. Then, after a few long minutes of loud panting and muffled sobs of satisfaction, they still only make it to the bedroom floor.

"Oh, right. It's my hand sanitizer. It smells divine."

"Your hand sanitizer?"

"Yes. I’m fresh and germ-free. That's probably why you smell so gross. Bacteria." 

After going for a second round, they had finally flopped down onto the bed, which was Harry's initial destination anyways. They laid on their sides, face to face, with arms crooked under their heads and fingers tracing designs up and down the others body. Pale moonlight streamed through the window, which was less of a window and more of an entire open wall. He could smell the sea, could taste the salt on his lips.

"You're my least favourite person. Don't talk to me."

Harry says, his attempt at sounding dismissive ruined by the grin he couldn't wipe off his face even if he tried.

Nick licked his lips slowly, eyes locked on Harry's with a look that almost seemed wondrous, like Harry was the most divine creature he had ever laid (his eyes on).

"Don't lie to me popstar. You've got your heart eyes on."

"They're for your hand sanitizer."

~~~

When Harry’s properly woken up, he slips out of bed to go explore their abode now that it’s bright. Nick knew a guy who knew the guy who owned the little house, and he was giving them a discounted price or something. Harry didn’t really care; he would have paid full price for this place. The ceilings were high and he could see the rafters. White walls adorned with various tiny paintings, all of which had condensation marks on them from how hot it could get. There’s a mural in their master bedroom, little blue fish swimming around on the plaster. It was tiny, with tiny rooms and tiny furniture that was sure to be a problem because he and Nick are both all lanky limbs. The kitchen doesn’t have a coffee machine; not that he wants a hot beverage in this heat. It’s barely half 8, and Harry’s already sweating even though he’s still naked.

He pads outside to their patio, and lets out a soft laugh at what greets him. Directly behind the house is nothing but a small stretch of beach, and endless ocean. And it’s the good type of water, bright and blue instead of the murky black he always imagined the sea to be. It’s not the Caribbean, and it’s not the white sand he’d originally wanted. There’s small shrubs everywhere, dotting the pinkish orange sand with flashes of green. But the wind is warm, and the sun is brighter than London ever could be, so he’s happy.

He’s steps out onto the beach, and he notices how isolated they are from everything. There’s just this one house as far as he can see. He happily struts down to the edge of the water, in all his naked triumph. Just as he’s considering leaping into the waves lapping at his toes, a hand reaches out and touches his shoulder.

He jumps slightly, not hearing Nick approaching. He turns to look at the man, and grins. “You scared me.”

Nick leans forward, and smacks a kiss to the younger man’s mouth. “That was precisely my intention. Good morning Harold.”

“Morning Nicholas.” Harry replies formally, and he looks Nick up and down as he takes his hand in his. “You look rather naked today.”

“Do I?” Nick asks, feigning shock. “I’m so embarrassed. I’ll scandalize the Spanish wildlife.”

Harry squeezes his hand. “It’s okay. I think I’ve forgotten my own clothing.”

“What a hoe, Harry Styles is.”

“Shut up,” Harry prevents Nick from replying by kissing him again. “I think we should go for a swim.”

“Right now?”

“Why not right now!”

“Because it’ll be cold!” Nick protests, dipping a reluctant toe into the surf. “It hasn’t had time to warm up yet.”

“That’s rubbish.” Harry scoffs, but he listens to Nick anyways. They lapse into quiet, just clenching each other’s hands as they look out at the sea. The wind keeps blowing their curls every which way, but not even Nick lifts a hand to try and restrain them.

~~~

They go swimming after a lunch of the various seafood they have stocked in their fridge. Nick keeps dunking Harry’s head under the water, Harry shrieking like a girl ten years younger than him. After about an hour of splashing about like idiots, they pull themselves out of the water and dry off by laying down in the sand. Harry’s fairly sure he’s got sand everywhere, but the sun is so pleasantly warm on his skin and Nick’s just chatting in his ear about last time he was in the Balearic Islands. Nick had been to Ibiza so many times he could probably give tours of the nightclubs, but he’d never been to Formentera before. His first time in Formentera, and he’s with Harry. He grins over at him.

Harry rolls over, and kisses down Nick’s body even though he needs to spit sand out from his mouth every few inches and it’s a lot less sexy than he imagined it being. He thought sex on the beach was supposed to be sensual, and exciting. He’s just got sand in all his crevices.

It doesn’t stop him from blowing Nick right there, and he bargains to let Nick come on his face if he licks him out like he promised he would when Harry was in Toronto. Nick pretends to be exasperated, but his movements speed up and become jerky in the way that Harry knows he’s excited.

Harry feels a bit weird, because rimming’s a bit weird and he’s on his elbows and knees right there on the middle of a beach with his head buried in a plant. But Nick’s tongue feels absolutely divine, and as soon as all the scratchy pieces of sand are out of the way, Harry’s arms are wobbling and he’s coming all over the ground faster than what is considered appropriate. Nick doesn’t mind, but he tells Harry off when the boy’s trying to kiss Nick immediately after he’s just had his mouth on his behind. Nick stands up and retreats into the house, to brush his teeth and to get out of the sun before he burns.

Harry lays in the sun for a bit longer, and he thinks about screaming fans and he thinks about visiting his mum and he thinks about Nick.

~~~

They only have the house for a few days, and before too long they have to go. Nick’s taken some time off for this, but he’s not got forever to stay in their little Spanish paradise. They don’t go into town once the entire time; they just spend the entire time lounging around, usually naked.

But they have to leave eventually, and they pack up and Harry cleans up and they have sex in every room on their last night. The next morning Harry’s sore and grumpy, and Nick’s harried and he looks wound up even after spending the past few days unwinding. It’s a mostly quiet car ride in the little rental Nick’s got to get himself there. The ferry is empty of anyone but the captain, a chubby Spanish man who looks like he couldn’t give less of a shit that he’s got a celebrity on a romantic getaway with a fellow male.

They get all the way to Heathrow before they have to make sure they’re not even remotely close to the other. As soon as Harry gets off of the plane, someone’s collecting him and whisking him away and out a back entrance that he didn’t even know existed. Of course they could somehow find an escape route out of Heathrow. Anything to make sure that Harry wasn’t spotted with a _boy_.

He goes back to Nick’s place. He’s missed it. He checks his twitter, and he’s apparently been spotted in Los Angeles.

When Nick finally arrives, having to beat his way through the airport like a regular person, Harry asks to stay the night. Nick kisses him on the lips, but shakes his head sadly.

“Not tonight, love. Got an early morning tomorrow. Can’t have you keeping me up all hours of the night.”

~~~

Harry's not used to being at home in a way that he spends too much time puttering about and trying to remember where he put that one jumper and how he categorizes his novelty sock collection. He's pretty sure he's misplaced all of his shoes except the brown ones and a pair of white converse. And alternatively, if Louis had stolen his toms and put them in the toilet again, he was moving out.

Quick frantic knocks sounded on the front door, and Harry welcomes the distraction. When he answers, there is Nick all spindly and quivering with excitement. The man swoops in and takes Harry's face in both hands and kisses him hard on the mouth. He then drops his hands and grins as he pushes through Harry into his flat.

"Hello to you too," Harry smiles. "Good news at your meeting, then? Haven't been fired?" Harry trails after Nick as the man tears through his home. He couldn't seem to keep still.

Nick spins around to look at Harry. The smile on his face is brilliant, and it makes Harry feel very warm and happy inside.

"Haven't been sacked. I got a promotion."

~~~

Harry buys a flat around the corner from Nick’s. He doesn’t spend much time in it.

~~~

The candles flickering on Nick's bedside table are supposed to ironic, but the romanticism of it isn't lost in the intention. 

They do a poor job of illuminating the room, and everything that it does reach is bathed in a distinctly yellow glow. 

Nick's yellow face hovers over Harry's body, as he kneels between the younger boy's legs, three fingers deep. His eyes study him intently, as he manipulates his fingers in a way that should be illegal. Harry moans and writhes under him, spreading his legs even wider as he squeezes the bedsheets with trembling hands.

His whole body is covered in a layer of sweat and he feels trembly and so fragile because Nick can't stop staring down at him, expression reverent. 

"Hold on," Nick said, and Harry makes an unhappy noise when he pulls his fingers out. He lifts his head, and watches grumpily as Nick stands up and crosses the room, wiping his hand rather uselessly on his leg. 

"What are," Harry barely manages to gasp out, breathing heavily from the shock of the complete loss of contact with Nick's skin. The words die in his throat when he sees Nick reach for his fancy and expensive camera, because oh.

Nick flicks on the camera, and he looks down and adjusts a few things before turning back to the bed. He walks slowly up, as if trying not to spook Harry. 

"You look so gorgeous right now, Haz." Nick says softly, and it sounds like asking for permission. The compliment sounds so genuine and it's so not like Nick to lay it out so clearly that Harry blushes and nods his consent.

Harry's silent as he watches Nick fall onto the bed on his knees, and shimmies up to his position between Harry's legs. Nick lifts the camera to his eyes, and Harry remains quiet. Later he'll ask Nick about this, and Nick will explain his desire to document the things that are important to him like it's not a thing that makes Harry's heart leap out of his chest when he hears it. But for now, he just lays there quietly, looking bronzed and glistening, because he trusts Nick so explicitly to let him take the photo. He trusts him not to hurt him with it, and he wants Nick to have it. He wants to give Nick this small reminder of him. He wants Nick to have every single aspect of him.

He just wants a lot. 

~~~

Summer is nice.

Nick's birthday is warm. The sun streaming through trees at Primrose Park, Nick's smile on his face. Harry dresses in a morph suit, just to try and make the man laugh. They all go back to Nick's flat after, and Nick drags Harry to his bedroom and peels the stretchy fabric off his body, making Harry gasp and moan with their friends in the next room.

Harry buys Nick an expensive necklace with an infinity symbol on it. He doesn't think the older man likes it, but later that week when Harry is pulling his shirt off, he sees it nestled between the man's collarbones.

They're not out of each other’s sights for the whole week. They go out every night and every afternoon and everyone notices but they don't much care. A few days after Nick's birthday, the two of them go to the tattoo parlor. It's a bit of split second decision, and Harry's heart is racing with the knowledge that Nick is getting the tattoo as well. They discussed it on the way to the parlor, and they both knew it had to be somewhere where people couldn't just _see_ it.

On the outside of Harry's right ankle and on Nick's left, they have the word _lover_ imprinted permanently on their skin.

~~~

Nick’s final show is approaching at a drastic rate and Nick’s stressing himself over it. Harry’s busy, always so busy in rehearsals for the VMAs and interviews and meetings and photoshoots but every time he checks his phone it seems there’s some sort of minor catastrophe occurring at Radio 1.

And Harry’s not stupid, and he understands why Nick’s so panicky about all of this even if Nick does not expressly admit that he’s panicky. It’s the end of his night time show and he’s moving onto the bloody Breakfast Show; it’s not a small gig. It’s a job that will alter his entire schedule and affect his social life and all that he’s become accustomed to.

Nick came out publicly in a little magazine just a few weeks prior, which makes Harry all the more proud of Nick for keeping his head held high and his shit determinedly together.

(Not to mention Nick coming out brought them one step closer to being in an actual relationship, somehow.)

The VMAs come first in the beginning of September, and Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to having that kind of attention focused and judging them. People all like him, specifically for whatever reason. He doesn’t think there’s anything particularly likeable about him. He’s just a guy who likes a good ramble.

They end up winning three more awards than they were expecting and their performance goes well. Whenever they play somewhere that isn’t a concert, there’s always a visible percentage of the audience who can’t wait for them to get off stage. At concerts, they’re all paying to hear them sing so he doesn’t feel quite as bad jumping around and singing like an idiot. But as these things go, it was a reasonably good show.

They spend a vast majority of September being at least a bit busy. They’re on an official break from touring, but that doesn’t stop them from being called in every few days for updates and last minute meetings.

The morning of Nick’s last show dawns, and Harry wakes up in the same bed as Nick which is enough to make the day good for him. Nick’s scurrying around from the moment he opens his eyes, and he goes into Radio 1 hours before he usually would. Harry takes his time, because he’s not expected for awhile and he doesn’t want to get in Nick’s way when he’s likely to develop a stress ulcer. He bakes a cake, and ices it with a badly drawn Nick, and a happy sun.

And the show goes well. It’s fun and they all laugh a lot. Nick and Example each can’t stop cracking jokes about him, but he doesn’t really mind. He can practically hear the collective screaming of teenagers on the internet when Example says, “Harry’s next single.”

The show wraps up, and Nick’s tearing up as he makes his rounds around the studio and chats and hugs each person on nights. Harry trails after him, and he eventually follows him home. Nick loves the cake.

~~~

"Hey Harry." Liam's got his daddy voice on, and Harry is rather reluctant to let him sit down with him. They're in America again, and they’ve got to record their Ellen interview and Harry is seated on the plush couch in their dressing room. The others had been gathered around the food table. Lou is still trying to get Zayn's hair to stay up in a quiff as the Bradford boy stuffs his face with biscuits.

Harry's waiting on a reply from Nick, and doesn't feel much like having a Liam Payne chat. But Harry knows that Liam hates being the responsible one, so he knows it must be serious. Harry's smile is strained, but it is a smile nonetheless as he pats a seat beside him.

Liam lowers himself down, straightening his posture immediately. He seems stiff, and it makes Harry snicker because he sometimes sits like that too; after he's just gotten stuck.

"So, Harry." Liam begins, looking sternly at the younger man.

"So, Liam." Harry replies, feeling cheeky. It is impossible to have a serious discussion with someone who looks like has had a dick lately.

"That lads and I were thinking---" Harry notices that the rest of the boys look determinedly away--- "that you talk to Nick a lot. Like, a lot."

Harry is confused now. "Yes... I do."

Liam shifts uncomfortably. "Well... you're always talking to him."

"Not always," Harry says defensively.

"No, not always." Liam allows indulgently, looking as if he wants to avoid a fight. "But like, you're always talking about him, or you're miserable."

"That's not true. I'm not talking to him now." Harry slips his phone into his pocket, even though he's pretty sure the rest of them have noticed him compulsively checking it every few minutes by now. A man pokes his head into the dressing room. "10 minutes, boys. If you could come out into the lobby, that'd be great."

Liam purses his lips, clearly not finished with their discussion. "Oh, alright. Just try and stop being so co-dependent, yeah?"

~~~

The thing with Taylor Swift never really was a Thing until suddenly, it was.

It starts in early November, when One Direction fly back to the USA to film  Ellen, the Today Show and make an appearance on the American X-Factor. Harry's not quite sure where the rumours started, because he wasn't aware of ever doing anything to actually instigate them. The first time he hears about himself being linked to the blonde beauty, he has never even met her. He figures that'll be it; he's allegedly slept with half the population of Britain at this point, so he figures it'll all just blow over.

He's wrong. When they get back from the USA, Harry gets called into a meeting with the One Direction's management team. While being called in is generally a very scary scenerio, it's even doubly so when he arrives to find that none of the other boys have been summoned. Harry texts Nick as he goes into it, because he's quietly worried that maybe they've been discovered. Nick doesn't answer his phone.

Harry sits down at the conference table, and a group of kind faced management reps encircle him. He's figured out by this point that each of the boys gets a different set of media relations experts working specifically for them. Harry's are always full of smiles, but have faint frown lines covering their face. This is probably because they know by now that Harry will not respond to people who push him too much, or sneer down their noses at him. The only other person who has more than one representative is Zayn; whose always look exhausted. Harry thinks it's because besides him, Zayn is the only other guy who gets the real backlash, being Muslim and all. Louis, Liam and Niall all have one lone rep, but since breaking America, Niall's has been looking increasingly more frazzled every time he sees her. Louis's always looks annoyed; Liam's looks well fed and relaxed.

Harry's favourite girl, Tara sits down directly across from him, strained smile looking decidedly forced. "Hello, Harry. You doing well, yeah?"

" 'm alright, thanks. How're you?" Harry replies, knowing full well that the question will be ignored. Tara never has time for small chat.

"Listen, Harry." Tara begins, massaging her forehead with a hand. "You've no doubt heard by now about rumours regarding you and Taylor Swift being in a relationship."

Harry's eyebrows shoot up, because oh. This isn't about Nick. "Yes...?" He asks warily.

"Well. Some very nice people representing Taylor contacted us earlier, and they suggested a... mutually beneficial proposal."

"What?" Harry asks, slightly incredulously. He leans back in his chair. They couldn't seriously be saying what he thought they were saying.

Tara seems to notice Harry's instant dislike of the idea. "I'm not saying you and Taylor Swift need to shack up, Harry. You don't even need to go 'official' with it. There's no official contract, unless you really want to commit to it. But you're both famous enough that you just need to be seen with her. She's just released her new album as well. Free press for everyone involved."

"You want me to pretend to date Taylor Swift to boost our album sales?" Harry says slowly. When Tara doesn’t reply, he mulls it over carefully. "What about when we 'break up'? This just sounds messy. Isn't this what you like to cover up?"

The people around them start speaking all at once. Suddenly, the room is filled with impatient voices and bustling people. Amidst the chaos, Harry could hear only a handful of words: "bearding," "gay," "Nick Grimshaw."

"Listen, Harry." Tara begins again in earnest. "This would benefit the band as a whole, and Taylor Swift. And it'd nicely cover up a few rumours going about between you and a certain Nick Grimshaw? Anything you'd like to tell us?"

Harry blushes a dark, angry red. "I don't think that I want to--"

"Exactly." Tara interrupts, and she stands up in her chair. "Well, ultimately it's your decision. But you have to think of the consequences of some of your _actions_ , and make a call on what _needs_ to be done if you want to continue these actions."

 _But what if I wanted to come out?_ Harry thinks desperately. His mouth hangs open, but the words are stuck on his tongue.

Tara’s straightening wrinkles out of her skirt, and her smile which had slipped throughout the conversation was plastered back on. Harry wonders why he had thought she was his favourite. "Thank you for coming in today, Harry. Send our best to Mr. Grimshaw."

~~~

Nick laughs when he tells him, and tells him that he's being ridiculous. Tells him that people don't actually have beards anymore, then changes tactics and tells him that Taylor Swift wouldn't actually date him anyways. Nick tells him that he's not worried, because even if he needs to go on a few dates to appease the general public, that Nick knows that Harry is too much of a gentleman to do anything with her.

Harry half wishes that Nick were wrong about that, because he's starting to feel so helplessly reliant on the man, that it would be reassuring if Nick at least pretended that he needed Harry even half as much.

But Harry laughs, and agrees with Nick because it _was_ ridiculous and Harry _wouldn't_ do anything that might hurt Nick.

Meanwhile, Nick recants the harrowing story of how he had barely escaped from his bandmates with his life. Apparently, as Harry was being reprimanded by management, Nick was being threatened within an inch of his life by Louis, Zayn, Niall and Liam.

Depending on who Harry asked, the stories of what was said varied greatly. But Liam told him that it hadn't been too bad and then he had changed the subject and showed him a video of a dancing cat, so Harry figured that it must have been awful.

Niall had invited Nick out to lunch with them, and Nick, thinking that Harry would be in attendance, had gone without even stopping to think about consulting Harry about it. When he arrived at Niall's flat, where they had agreed to meet, Nick had been ambushed by 4 menacing looking boys with perfect hair and complexions. Their pressed clothes had made Nick uneasy; nothing good could come from young adults with ironed shirts.

They sat Nick down, who was sputtering and confused by his present situation. When Nick told the story, Harry couldn't help but laugh a little at how similar their days had gone. Both had been ganged up on by people staring down their noses at them as they sat at a table.

Louis led the charge, lecturing Nick first on the basics of how a relationship in the spotlight works. How difficult it would be, and how hard it is to be dating someone famous. Then, Liam had joined in and gently reminded Nick that he and Harry couldn't be an actual official _couple_ for obvious reasons. Then, Zayn briefly went over something Nick described as "Harry 101", where Zayn spoke primarily about how Harry was to be treated because he is an important person who needs just the right amount of love and support in order to blossom into a beautiful Styles-butterfly.

Niall finished it off by cheerily telling him that they'd tie him up and throw him in the Thames if he fucked Harry over. Nick solemnly assured them that he wasn't planning on doing anything that would hurt Harry anytime soon.

Harry was mortified. But he loved his boys. All 5 of them.

~~~

A date is arranged. Taylor Swift meets he, Tom, Lou and Lux for a playful day at the zoo. He's holding Lux half the time, and the weather is perfect and he hasn't got any acne. He feels like he's stepping out of a romance novel, or a 12 year old's most wistful dreams. Which, he supposes is the point.

And it's not like he doesn't have a good time. Taylor's a laugh and only seems a bit stuck up and privileged. He likes her, likes Lou, likes Tom, likes Lux. They're just spending time together, but he can't help but feel as if he's doing something wrong. He's not lying to anyone, but they're all deliberately trying to fool everyone. He's already hesitant enough to go along with it; doubly so now that he's actually doing it.

But there's a contract that's been signed, and Nick's given all this his blessing, so he's not going to back out now.

Taylor's fine. Maybe a bit annoying and maybe a bit more awkward than he expected a starlet to be. But they have a perfectly nice day, and he has a perfectly nice time. He tries his best to be charming and to not think about Nick. Sometimes it just comes out; he'll make comparisons between Taylor and Nick's long limbs and the little crinkles around their eyes when they laugh. Taylor's skin is so smooth while he can picture the tiny chicken pox scars on Nick's cheeks and he misses them. And Taylor doesn't seem to appreciate Harry's slightly strange and bumbling sense of humour like Nick does. Doesn't like how he prefers not to speak, seems impatient when he's puzzling over his next word. He doesn't mention it, and does not mention Nick, who has kept up a steady string of texts throughout the expedition.

When they're about to leave, Harry ducks around to the giftshop. He buys (another) NYC t-shirt for his mum, a mug for himself, and a Central Park Zoo snow globe for Nick that has a pair of lions in front of a questionably placed castle. Later, when he's back at the hotel room, he takes a picture and sends it to Nick with a smiley face and a prawn emoji.

Nick replies almost immediately.

**if I said I didn't miss you, I'd be lion**

Then, a few seconds later, a message entirely filled with prawns.

~~~

"You're a lot more boring since you got a significant whatever."

Harry looks up at Niall, who has just thrown himself rather dramatically across the couch Harry's half sat at, playing go fish with Zayn and Louis.

"What, me?" Harry asks, looking at the other two boys who shrug up at him.

"Yeah, you." Niall grumbles, scratching idly at his belly. "Been used to them bein' all coupley and borin' since they got girls, but I didn't know you'd leave me to be domestic."

Louis and Zayn are snickering rather loudly, so Harry takes the high road and choses to ignore the Irishman, who is sliding closer to him and grunting exasperatedly. Harry asks Zayn if he's got an 4's.

"See!" Niall exclaims, gesturing wildly at Zayn telling him to go fish. "You're sat not just playing cards, but also _losing_ at cards. Hopeless, just hopeless."

Harry sticks his tongue out at Niall, which just makes Louis' snicker turn into full out laughter. "Hey," Harry says slowly, picking up a card from the pile. "I played cards before Grimmy."

"He lost at cards before him, as well." Louis points out unhelpfully.

"What's even the deal with you two?" Zayn voices, "I can never tell if you're in an actual relationship with him." He sets his cards face down on the table they've pushed to the couch, and Louis follows suit. They're all just staring at him, and Harry feels with certainty that this was planned.

Harry sighs, and he also puts down his cards because he was losing anyways. He tries for a more subtle approach, and shrugs while avoiding eye contact.

"D'you even know what you are?" Louis demands rather shrilly. " 'Cos last time we talked to Grimmy he seemed very adamant that you aren't an actual couple. You've got to outline the boundaries of your relationship, mate!"

Harry looks up at give Louis an incredulous look. "Thanks for that enlightening advice. Why didn't I think of that?"

"So it's just Grim, then?" Niall gleefully cries, before immediately sobering down his tone. " 'S awful. Shouldn't let him walk over you, wouldn't let anyone do that to me."

"He's not walking over me..." Harry slowly adds, thinking hard about what he's about to say. "It's just a bit complicated at the moment. Especially with us being away from London all the time, and all this with Taylor."

Before Harry's even finished his sentence, Louis is waving him off. "Bullshit. We've all got commitments, and we manage alright. I get that the secretness of it sucks, but it's worth it once you're actually together." Zayn nods in agreement and they've both got tiny, wistful smiles on their faces that Harry wants to smack off. One look at Niall and Harry can tell he feels the exact same way.

"Yeah, alright." Harry allows, because he doesn't really want to talk about it much and he picks up his cards again. Louis and Zayn copy, because that's apparently all they wanted to say and now they can get back to what's important. Niall settles himself on Harry's side, head on his shoulder to stare at Harry's cards. His hair smells like hair product in the same way that Nick's does, but it doesn't have the same effect.

They continue their game quietly, only speaking to ask game-relevant questions. Niall's so quiet that Harry wonders if he's somehow managed to fall asleep while sitting up and balancing on his shoulder bone.

Niall, however, breaks the silence. "So like... Who’s the girl, then?"

Louis throws his cards down on the floor as he starts roaring with laughter and Zayn's got his "I shouldn't be laughing but I am" snigger going, and Harry's looking at Niall with a look of shock and he'd be more offended if he was the type of guy who punched people out to protect their own masculinity. He's about to say something about that, that neither of them are the girls and to mind his gender roles, before Louis answers for him.

"I've walked in on the two of them," Louis crows, fighting to be articulate over how hard he's still laughing. "And Harry's definitely the girl."

Their laughter intensifies, and even Harry's chuckling a bit. He shakes his head with a tightlipped smile to keep any giggling in, and stands up. "I don't need this!" He shouts, feigning anger and he stalks from the room.

~~~

Harry goes on vacation with Taylor, and takes her back to England with him. He’s unhappy and distressed that his mum is being brought into this farce of a relationship, but she seems understanding and Taylor is positively sweet to her. She shows genuine interest in his home, and asks many questions about locations and childhood stories. 

Harry wants to be annoyed with her, but just can’t. Taylor is kind and polite to everyone she meets and Harry can’t make the connection between the public idea of Taylor Swift, girl who writes a million love songs and demeaning songs about the people who hurt her, and the girl who is enthusiastically suggesting they go and play with pigeons. 

One night, they’re holed up in a hotel room, they’re watching a movie alone on Taylor’s laptop, sharing a common headphone. Harry’s in his “relaxed but not naked” clothes, and Taylor has wet hair and no makeup on. She looks quite beautiful.  

Halfway through the movie, Taylor reaches out and presses pause on the computer and looks at him. Harry likes her tiny features, all sharp and pointy in a way that somewhat reminds him of Louis.

 “I know why I’m doing this,” she says, scratching her cheek with a dainty finger. “But why are you?” 

Harry stares blankly at the red line left on her face. “Doing what?” 

“This.” She gestures to Harry and then back at herself. “Fake dating me. I’ve been dying to ask this whole time. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. You can tell me to screw off.”

 “Why did I agree to a fake relationship?” Harry looks speculatively at the girl in his bed.

 “Yes.” 

Harry chuckles, and he scratches at the hair at the back of his head while considering his answer. “Don’t take offence, but I don’t think I want to tell. It’ll probably end up in song.”  

Taylor smiles, but its a small and sad one. “I understand. I must seem like some crazy bitch, don’t I?”  

“I wouldn’t say that,” Harry protests lamely, shrugging. “Just a bit… Intimidating.”  

This time, Taylor smiles in earnest. “Intimidating? You must be joking.” 

“I’m not!” Harry laughs. “I’ve like, been a bit scared to do anything around you that might make you think I’m a dick ‘cause I don’t want to end up in a chorus.” 

Taylor giggles, and she places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t write anything nasty about you. Unless you do something nasty to me. Or they tell me to.” 

Harry perks up at the last bit. “What do you mean?” 

Her eyes look faraway. “C’mon Harry. I’m on a contract with you. I think it’s pretty clear that I’m not in total control of my actions.” 

“I thought you wrote your own songs though.” Harry asks, confused. He places his own hand on top of Taylor’s still on his shoulder.  

“I do,” she nods, “but it’s not without a lot of outside influence. Basically, I write a song around what they told me a guy has done to me. They don’t force me to go in that direction, but I’ve found over the years that its just easier to do as they say.” 

“That’s rubbish,” Harry says decisively. “You can’t just do whatever they tell you to do.” 

The look Taylor gives him makes him feel like he’s a year one again and he’s just been told off. “Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”  

Harry doesn’t reply, just stares searchingly at the girl he’s only known for a few weeks and he’s already brought home to meet his mother. It feels suddenly strangely intimate, like they’ve drifted closer in these last few moments. Harry has the strangest urge to lean closer and kiss her, and to make use of the hotel room they’ve been provided with.  

Taylor shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. “So. What are you doing this for?”  

“I’m doing this for my band,” Harry croaks out. “I’m doing this because my band will get in trouble if people find out the person I’ve been seeing.” 

Taylor quirks an eyebrow. “What’s she like?” 

“He’s amazing.” Harry holds her gaze, as if daring her to react. Daring her to push away, to pull her hand out from under his.  

She doesn’t. She just smiles, and squeezes his shoulder. “We’re on the same boat, then. I promise I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

Harry grins back at her. “Promise.” 

~~~

Harry was exhausted. Louis was off somewhere, bouncing off walls and alternating between taking shots and breathing in his ear, and Harry just wanted to sleep. He didn’t regret throwing Louis this party, but he was man enough to admit that he’d rather be watching baking television. He stumbled off to a dark part of the club, where couples hid themselves behind partitions and Harry wondered about just what kind of club they had gone to anyways.

He pulled out his phone, and dialed the number he had memorized the first time it had been given to him.

Nick answered on the third ring. "Merry Christmas, Harold." In the background, Harry could just barely make out the buzzing of a television and Nick shuffling around."

" 'snot Christmas yet," Harry replied matter of factly, but he was shitfaced so it came out jargled.

Nick chuckled quietly. "It's 12:08. Sorry, but Louis' birthday is over and it's Christmas."

Harry's lips quirked up into a smile. "Shut up. I miss you."

"I miss you too, maybe. It all depends on what you got me for Christmas. A Rolls Royce would be fantastic."

"Yep, I got you one in fuscia."

"Does it say 'I love Harry Styles' on the front? I refuse to drive it if it doesn't."

Harry sunk down to sit at the base of the wall, laughing loudly. "I miss you."

"You already said that."

"I’m reiterating."

"A proper 18 year old shouldn’t have a larger vocabulary than I do.”

"Yeah, well. What are you doing for Christmas? I miss you. Did I mention that?"

"You might have, God you're so stifling. But just spending some quality time with the family. And Aimee, of course. Wanna join us? My mum makes the best roast, but you already know that."

Harry rubbed the heel of his hand over tired eyes. "Can't, prior obligations. Gemma might actually kill me if I miss dinner."

"Just come over after. Please? I'll make it worth your while." Harry could somehow hear the leer in Nick's voice.

"Are you bribing me with sex? I am scandalized. I’m not that kind of boy."

"Yes, I am. And yes you are. C'mon Styles. Let's get it on in my childhood bedroom."

"And I’m the stifling one? Are you gonna blow me in front of your Spice Girls poster?"

Harry's voice had dropped several decibels, and anyone looking would just see a hunching popstar muttering into his phone with a stupid smile on his face.

"Possibly. Although I’d also be open to you blowing me in front of my Spice World poster.”

“Oh, mate. Could I really?”

Nick and Harry both laugh, and Harry feels much more grounded suddenly. He’s at his best mate’s birthday party with his best mate’s family getting along with his own, and he’s happy about it. But it would have been nice if he could have invited Nick as well.

“I’ve got to run, popstar.” Nick says fondly. “Time to rummage through my cupboards for a late night snack.”

“Okay,” Harry replies, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Nick’s quiet for a moment, but then clears his throat. “I do miss you. Isn’t that stupid? I see you all the time.”

“I miss you too.”

~~~

Harry drives up to Holmes Chapel on Christmas day to spend Christmas dinner with his mum. He drives alone, and it’s lucky that he does because he has to use every inch of available space in his range rover to hold all the gifts he was bringing for assorted family. He had offered to pay for the kitchen renovation that Anne had been whinging for for years, but she adamantly refuses so he buys her coffee mugs.

He spends the meal trying to subtly threaten Gemma’s boyfriend. He’s met him before, but it wouldn’t be Christmas without a good amount of sly threats. Anne eventually slaps Harry away and makes him do the washing, after Harry pushes his chair in between Gemma’s and Liam’s chairs when the two start holding hands on the table.

It takes him an hour and a half to do all the dishes, and Gemma sits rather unhelpfully on the island behind him, trying to get him to talk more about Nick. He almost goes for the bait (because he loves talking about Nick), but he knows that her playful teasing will just turn into a Serious Conversation if he doesn’t stop it.

They have a fight with the suds, until a soaking wet sponge Harry aims at his sister accidentally hits his cousin, and Anne announces that Christmas dinner is finished. The family invites Harry to spend the night after they all exchange gifts (Harry gets a lot of probably ironic One Direction merch. His family are sarcastic fucks), but Harry declines with a kiss to everyone’s cheek. Anne asks where he’s going, and he blushes and shuffles out of the house.

The drive from Holmes Chapel to Manchester is one he’s made many times before, and he’s pleasantly full of delicious food and satisfied in the knowledge that he’s on the way to visit the Grimshaw’s. He speeds a bit too fast down the M6, but the traffic is light for Christmas Day.

He shows up at around half 9, but Nick’s parents house is still bright and crowded. As soon as he knocks on the door, it’s bursting open and tiny arms are pulling him inside.

Harry stumbles inside, grinning but confused until he recognizes Nick’s little cousins leading his way. They’re giggling, and he giggles with them as he tries to shrug out of his jacket between them tugging on his arms.

“Nick said you were coming!”

“Everyones sitting at the table still! We’ve been waiting for you!”

“Nana said you weren’t coming.”

Harry doesn’t understand it, because even these distant relatives of the Grimshaw clan are ridiculously charming and they probably haven’t even reached double digits yet. Grimshaw’s are probably socialites at conception. The little girls drag him into the dining room, where everyone is indeed seated. They all shout greetings at him, delighting and throwing their hands out. Eileen and Nick both jump out of their seats, and Harry heads to Eileen first and presses a kiss to her cheek. He winks at Nick, who stands impatiently beside his mother.

“Mom,” Nick scoffs, tapping his foot. “Get off of him. He came to see me, not you.”

Harry grins, pulling away from the woman and attaches himself under Nick’s arm. “How do you know I haven’t come just to see the lovely Eileen?”

Nick gives him a funny look, rolling his eyes and he turns back to his family. “Alright, all. Quit your gawking. It’s like you’ve never seen a popstar before.”

Harry sits down at the table in a seat Nick’s auntie wrestles up for him. He’s too late for dinner, but they are no where close to being done at the table. Harry has a reasonably large family, and he’s used to having big and loud family get togethers at the major holidays.

But the Grimshaw’s bring new meaning to the word “loud”. If he wasn’t already used to the screaming and chattering of teenage girls, Harry might have had a stroke. The kids are running in and out of rooms, shouting at each other about being it and how someone kicked someone. The adults, equally as screechy, keep fussing over Harry and Nick, comparing curls and regaling stories even Harry has heard countless times, and he’s only met them all twice.

Nick keeps a casual hand on the back of Harry’s seat, and Harry can feel him tapping on the wood and he can feel his body warmth through his festive Christmas jumper.

Quite a bit of time passes, and Harry’s on his second glass of wine when Nick’s second cousin turns her attention to him.

“So, what’s Taylor Swift like then?”

The table mostly turns to hear his answer, but scattered conversations keep going on the other side of the table. Nick’s tapping on his chair stops.

Harry shifts, slightly uncomfortably. “Er, she’s great. We get on, like, really well.” Nick scoffs, and Harry can feel the slight gust of breath hitting the back of his head.

Nick’s cousin (Rita?) nods knowingly. “She’s a pretty one, she is. Wish my hair was all blonde like. And those curls? She probably doesn’t know the meaning of the word frizz.”

Harry just nods, hoping that Rita will just drop it because he can practically feel Nick getting huffier and huffier as the seconds go by.

Of course, she doesn’t stop. “You and her are dating, yeah?” Rita nods at him, and she picks up her previously discarded glass of wine.

“Actually, no.” Nick cuts in, leaning forward in his seat. At his tone, more of the conversations come to a halt. “Celebrities dating celebrities is good publicity, and all that.” Harry turns to look at the man, but Nick looks right past him, refusing to meet his eyes.

Rita keeps going, like a car wreck. “You sure?” She asks curiously. “I read in the Mail—“

“Well the Mail’s bloody wrong, isn’t it?” Nick snaps, and all conversations putter to a stop as every person turns to look at Nick and Harry. Harry freezes, unsure of what to do with his hands even though he’s a celebrity and he should be used to all eyes being on him. Nick sets his own wine glass down on the table, and pushes out of his chair. He sweeps dramatically out of the room, managing to channel both a snobbish aristocrat and a 5 year old having a hissy fit in one.

When the door shuts closed behind Nick, all eyes turn back to look at Harry. He smiles awkwardly, and stands up from his chair as well. “Er, excuse me.” He mutters, and he stumbles over his own feet on his way to follow Nick. He’s thankful to leave the staring behind.

Nick’s not too hard to follow, as he can still hear his noisy footsteps throughout the house. Harry just hears him slam a door upstairs behind him before Harry’s racing after him. He runs up the stairs, chewing on the inside of his lip as he goes.

Harry’s seen Nick’s room last Christmas, and it hasn’t much changed. Same embarrassing Spice Girls paraphernalia littering all surfaces, same Tupac banner, same beat up stereo taking up half the far wall. The only thing different is Nick, grumping with legs crossed stiffly on his bed.

“Nick, what’s wrong?” Harry asks, crossing the room and sitting on the bed beside Nick. He puts a calming hand on the man’s shoulder, but Nick’s standing up as soon as Harry’s seated.

“Nothing,” Nick snaps, standing in front of him. His legs look long and thinner than usual in his black skinnies. “Just a bit tired of this Taylor Swift business.”

Harry once again finds himself unsure of what to do with his hands. He fiddles with the collar of his jumper, distressed. “Oh,” he says lamely, chewing up his lip. “I thought—you said you were okay with that.”

“I was. I am.” Nick nods at him, but he starts pacing manically back and forth across a room that was really too small for pacing. “It’s just that Aimee won’t stop talking about it, and my mum keeps dropping hints about commitment and eternal love, and all that. And I’m just at home, wanking myself off every night because you’re off shagging Swifty on the regular---”

“Wait, what?”

“--And Finchy thinks he’s being funny when he talks about Haylor, or whatever god awful name you’ve got, but he’s not. I’m mad at you.”

“You think I’m having sex with Taylor Swift?” Harry butts in, louder than before. Something was twisting deep in his stomach.

“Well, yeah.” Nick looks at him, still pacing with a look that meant _obviously I think you’re fucking her you’re so stupid._

"Jesus, Nick."

This had started with Nick being angry with Harry, but now Harry is raising his voice and he is angry with Nick. And the fact that he's even mad at the man at all should be an indicator on just how serious this actually is. Whenever Nick does or says something that pisses him off, he generally just pushes it back and tries to be flexible so they can work through it. But he's _mad_ and he wants Nick to know that he's _mad._

Harry slams a fist on Nick's desk, and knick-knacks from when the man was just a kid rattle around uselessly. Harry chides himself gently to remember that Nick's entire family is in the other room and they're waiting on the two of them to come back. He shouldn't yell too loudly.

"I told you," Harry says, voice unsteady in his effort to keep from shouting. "All this with Taylor Swift? 'S not real."

If Nick was impressed by Harry snapping at him, it doesn't show. He sneers down at the seated boy, as he continues his mad pacing across the room. "And I'm supposed to just take your word for it? Half the magazines I see at Waitrose know more about you than I do, and they seem really convinced."

Harry inhales, and cracks his knuckles. "They also don't know about us." He points out, hoping he sounds logical and convincing. "They don't know anything about me."

Nick glances at him out of the corner of his eye, and he's smiling with no humour behind his eyes. "I don't think I know much about you, either Popstar." He sits down on the bed, the Spice Girls bedspread isn't so funny at the moment.

Harry wants to rip his own hair out, because Nick hasn't called him Popstar for months and months and he thought they were past that. If he really thought about it, he wasn't sure if the fact that they'd recently stopped calling each other anything but their names was good or bad. He probably will rip his curls out if he thought long and hard about that. As it is, Harry probably will anyways. His leg is twitching with nervous energy, and he's still trying so hard to not scream at Nick.

"By this point, you should know that I wouldn't do something like that to you." He says quietly. "I wouldn't lie to you. I couldn't ever lie to you."

Nick scoffs. "No, you know what Harry? It's really okay. It's fine with me if you did sleep with her. She seems like she'd be an incredible shag."

"What do you want from me?" Harry seethes, sitting back. He's got a lump in the back of his throat, and it might be an ulcer or something equally life threatening, he doesn't know.

"Nothing." Nick is hissing, and Harry's at his limit.

"No, obviously something's wrong," Harry is standing now, and he's the one pacing and sporting a throbbing head vein. "You're mad because you believe the rubbish people are saying about some sad popstar and I. Admit it Nick, you want me all to yourself."

"I just want to know that my whatever isn't doing whatever with whoever he wants!" Nick adds in, and he sounds just as angry as Harry feels.

"That's just the thing though, you twat!" Harry's yelling, and he doesn't care now if Nick's mum hears. "I'm your 'whatever'. There's no fucking relationship to be monogamous to! And I'm honestly sick of it. The boys all think I'm stupid for putting up with you."

"Oh, because you and your other teenage friends are relationship experts."

"And you are?"

Nick shrinks away, and Harry winces because it may be true but it's still a bit cruel.

Harry moves closer to the bed, and it’s a bit tiring how he's _always_ got to be the bigger person. He's always got to be the person to take the first step. They wouldn't have ever gotten this far if it weren't for him putting himself on the line. It's always worked before; why wouldn't it now? He manoeuvres over, and sinks down beside Nick. They're close enough their shoulders touch, but not close enough their thighs will. "I need you to trust me, Nick." He pleads, and he places his hand in the space between them, palm up.

Nick doesn't reply. He stares down at Harry's hand, and he looks so unhappy and resentful and confused and torn. It makes Harry unhappy and resentful and confused and torn because what are they even doing in this relationship if Nick can't trust Harry not to have sex with people?

Nick shakes his head, but he takes Harry's hand in his. He feels rather reluctant, like he wants to rip his hand back and kick Harry out of the room. But he doesn't. Instead, he sighs, smiles weakly at the younger boy. "Sorry. That was a bit uncalled for, wasn't it?"

"It's okay," Harry's quick to put salve on this wound. "'m sorry too. We were both a bit extra.

"I am never extra. I'm just the right amount of ridiculous, lonely and overemotional for my future occupation as professional spinster."

They both laugh, but it's hollow. Harry's hand can't get comfortable entwined with Nick's, which is a sensation that is thoroughly new to him. But they've made up, and that's what really matters, isn't it? Nick's chosen to believe in them, and Harry always has, so. What else is there that could matter?

"We should go back and join them." Nick suggests, idly tracing patterns with his thumb on Harry's fingers. "Probably wondering where we've gotten off to."

"Yeah. We should."

"Yeah."

~~~

Harry does not spend New Years Eve the way he'd like to.

The boys are all back in the UK, but he's in New York City to listen to Taylor Swift sing and to kiss her when the clock strikes 12.

You're supposed to spend New Years doing the things you want to do. It's supposed to be an indicator of the year ahead. Does that mean he's going to spend all of 2013 hiding?

He listens to Taylor, and they kiss at the appropriate time. He draws her in, holding her tight, because if he'll be doing this for a year, he'd better get it right.

~~~

His contract with Taylor is shredded only days after New Years when they’re on vacation on the fucking Virgin Isles. She was receiving so much more bad publicity than good, because the majority of One Direction fans vehemently hated them together.  And later, months later, when Taylor hosts the Grammy’s and makes the dig at him, Harry isn’t angry. She had to do what she had to do.  

And she doesn’t tell his secret. And he doesn’t tell hers.

~~~

They go to Ghana and they check into a nice hotel room and Harry feels dirty. Niall, Louis and Zayn have just come back from a children's hospital, Zayn in tears and Louis and Niall unusually quiet. Harry and Liam had pleaded out of it; but their requests were denied and they were sent to the same hospitable the day after. Harry cries his eyes out.

He's sitting in their hotel room, and staring at the ceiling and the light fixture and wondering about if he measured the worth of the wallpaper in that room, and one African child, which one would be more? He feels dirty, because he's so privileged and he has so much compared to these people who have absolutely nothing.

He stands quickly, and rummages around his bag for his cell phone. He makes four calls, ignoring the long distance charges. One, to the man who manages his bank account, to donate as much as he's allowed to Comic Relief and assorted charities. The others, to his mum, Gemma, and Nick, ordering them to donate as well.

~~~

Japan is phenomenal, as are most of the places they visit. The intricacies of the Japanese culture paired with the incomprehensible language make it all the more thrilling that they know who One Direction are. Harry can barely differentiate between simple Japanese words and phrases, and these people know every word to their songs.

Nick doesn't call as much so Harry calls his mum x5 more than he usually would. She's excited to hear from him, but after Harry calls back after an hour long chat not 10 minutes after it's over, she's gently reminding him that long distance costs her a small fortune.

Tokyo is beautiful, but like all cities he's visited, Tokyo is unfamiliar and lonely. And it's like the city is trying to reject him. He buys a robot like Zayn, but he's broken it before he's even taken it out of the package. He nearly breaks a taxi with self-closing doors. He falls and knocks down a small barricade onto some of the crew for the magazine they're being interviewed by. He's just having a string of bad luck that leaves everyone he comes in contact with, especially the boys annoyed with him.

And Nick still isn't calling him back.

~~~

As bad as things are when Harry's away between the two of them, they generally get better when Harry returns home to London. After their Japan trip, Harry shows up at Nick's with an expensive bottle of wine and a bad homemade necklace made from the robot he destroyed as a gift.

Nick invites him right in, with a genuine smile on his face and a muffled "missed you Harry" pressed into the back of the popstars' neck.

~~~

The eve of Harry's nineteenth is approaching, and Nick is acting shiftier than usual. Nick likes to pretend that he's a cool and collected gangsta man, but the truth is that he's got a shit poker face. So when Nick starts shuffling around when he gets a new text, or stops talking when Harry enters the room, or has late night phonecalls that Harry hears him get up from their bed, he doesn't say a thing about it.

Two days before the first, Zayn approaches Harry and tells him he wont be able to make it to his party, but he'll make up for it some other time. Harry's gleeful when he tells Zayn it's okay, because now it's at least been confirmed that there will be a party.

On January 31, Nick sends Harry a text ordering him to come over, pronto. Harry is only too happy to, and he shows up at Nick's in his softest and most cuddly clothing. Nick has work the next morning, so Harry assumed they'll just be spending some quality time with the TV, and then some lazy "I've got to be up and addressing the nation in a few hours, but happy birthday" sex.

Harry's entirely wrong because Nick's opened the door before Harry's even knocked and he's emanating with waves of pure energy and excitement. He's either already drunk, or he's had a few too many cups of coffee.

"Hello darling," Aimee calls from deeper in the house because Nick's already swirling away from the door. Thurston's growling at his feet, seemingly unsure if he wants to attack Harry or not.

"Hi Aimee." Harry slides his shoes off, because Thurston's all talk and wouldn't dare bite his feet. "What's going on?"

"We've got dinner reservations!" Aimee appears in the hall and gives him and his sweatpants an incredulous look as she pulls him away from the door.

"And you show up looking like a ragamuffin!" Nick squawks, rustling through a basket of laundry set on the table.

"A ragamuffin?" Harry snickers, sitting down at the table beside the man.

Nick's got a look in his eyes that Harry can't decide if it's determined or manic. Maybe he should see a therapist, because he can't decide if it's sexy or not. "Yes, a ragamuffin. Lucky for you, you've dropped trou in my bedroom enough times that like, half of your wardrobe is already here."

"That being my original intention."

"What, your intention was to incorporate your ragamuffin ways in every aspect of my life?"

"Well, I haven't been to the new studio yet, so there's that." Harry grins sweetly.

"Yeah, only a matter of time." Nick says dismissively, as he decides on some freshly laundered pants. "Here, put these on popstar. We've got quite the night planned." Nick walks to where Harry's seated, and places the pants in his hands with a quick peck on the lips.

~~~

The restaurant is more of a precursor to the actual party. It's identical to his 18th birthday; same restaurant, same people except he recognizes them all this time around. Pixie buys him condoms again. Gillian buys him the Taylor Swift CD. (The waitress is a big fan of One Direction and asks for an autograph. Nick tells Harry to sign Red for her. Harry does.)

By the time they're leaving the restaurant, Harry's feeling weepy-eyed and sentimental. February 1st is not only his birthday, but it is also his and Nick's kinda one year anniversary. He wants to blow Nick for doing al this for him, because he brought him to the same restaurant and that must mean something. Harry practically skips out with the full intention of taking Nick home and having filthy, happy sex with him, because surely Nick has nothing else planned, right?

Apparently he’s wrong. They go out to a club, one much more posh than the dingy hipster bars they're used to. There's a strict "no camera" rule inside, and the people are too disinterested to care about who Harry Styles is standing close to.

They all do shots, wooping and yelling exaggeratedly at the burn they're far too used to. Nick keeps a warm hand on Harry's lower back the whole night, and Harry wants to purr with how possessive it feels.

They don't dance, but they all jump around a bit like idiots when they've noticed it's passed midnight and that it's officially Harry's birthday.

Nick pulls Harry closer, eyes shrouded in dark from the shitty club lighting. He touches Harry's cheek before running his fingers under the hair behind Harry's ear. "Happy 19th birthday, Hazza," he says quietly enough that no one notices. "And happy one year of sex-aversary. Can't believe I've put up with one whole year of such a terrible blanket snatcher."

Harry's pulse is soaring. "Put up with me? Can't believe I've endured a year of your snoring!"

"And I can't believe I've put up with a year of sharing a flat with these two going at it at every hour of the day." Aimee barges in loudly, an arm around each of their shoulders as she squeezes in between them. She nods sagely at Henry, who's watching with a mixture of fascination and glee. "Harry here is a screamer."

"And that's our cue!" Nick declares, patting Aimee on the back and grabbing onto a beet red popstar. "Good night all! We've got very important celebrity things to do. You common folk wouldn't understand."

“Ha, important celebrity things?” Aimee jeers after them. “Have fun fucking!”

They do.

~~~

Harry wakes up the next morning, and Nick is not there but he didn’t expect him to. He puts on the Breakfast Show as he gets himself cleaned up a bit, and talks to his mum on the phone who can’t believe her baby is 19.

Anne asks where Harry is, and Harry coughs awkwardly before revealing that he’s at Nick’s. She knows that they’re airquote boyfriends, but it doesn’t mean he wants his mom to know when he’s just gotten the shag of a lifetime.

Harry makes his way into the kitchen, and sees Nick’s left him a bouquet of roses with a “happy birthday!” sign. Harry blushes, and he’s just glad that Nick’s not here to see him so flushed over this tiny gesture.

Harry wastes as much time waiting to see if Nick would miraculously come back early, but then eventually he has to give up and leave to go and meet up with Louis at the studio. They’re supposed to play some footy with the boys of 5 Seconds of Summer, and Harry’s not as excited for it as he told Louis he was. Louis’ the football player. Niall and Liam are the other football players. Zayn has a penchant for picking up the ball with his hands and throwing it over fences just to end the game. And Harry has at least one near death experience whenever he tries to play the stupid game.

Harry meets up with Louis and a few members of their headlining band for lunch. They don’t really know each other that well, but they seem like nice lads. And they seem aware of what a lucky break they’ve gotten to open for One Direction. Harry tries not to think that, though. Doesn’t want to sound too cocky.

They get lunch and they go back to the studio and just fuck around for awhile before Louis deems it suitable to go out and play. They somehow end up winning, even though it’s just Harry and Louis against all members of 5SOS and Harry’s fairly sure they were just being nice to them because they didn’t want to do anything to make One Direction kick them off the tour. By the time they’re all sweaty and ready to leave, Nick’s been sending an incessant stream of texts that Harry was too busy running from one end of the field to the other to read.

**HARRY**

**WHERE ARE YOU**

**I’VE GOT ABOUT 20 POUNDS OF EDIBLE DIABETES IN CAKE FORM HERE AND YOU ARE NO WHERE TO BE FOUND**

**RETURN TO ME AT ONCE**

Harry returns, expecting to find a cuddly looking Nick because they went out for drinks last night and Nick had barely gotten any sleep so he surely couldn’t be planning another outing, right?

Incorrect again, because Nick’s shoving Harry into the shower to wash himself of his football musk and when he jumps out Henry’s there and he’s set out an outfit for Harry.

They go out again, for the second night in a row and Nick keeps going on about how “he’s back,” and how he’s missed going on all night benders and how he really doesn’t mind that he hasn’t slept since Thursday.

Harry gets spectacularly pissed, and he sees Nick take a tiny tablet, so he takes one too. After that, it gets harder and harder to focus on anything around him that’s happening. Everything moves way too fast, and it’s like his brain can’t keep up with the stimuli. He’s wearing a tiara, and Niall’s slapping him on the back in one moment, but the next he’s pressed against the stall of the men’s room and Nick’s giving him a birthday blowjob with inflated pupils.

He vaguely remembers being angry with Nick, because he’s bought him a stripper and that’s going to be in the papers, he just knows it. But his anger wisps away just as quickly as it appears because he keeps looking past the girl dancing in front of him, and Nick’s just giggling and he looks so happy that it makes Harry happy. And it’s all harmless, and Nick says it’s okay and Nick thinks it’s funny, so it’s all good.

They go back to Nick’s, and he smells so deliciously like nicotine and nightclub that Harry wants nothing more than to lie back and let Nick do whatever he wants to him. But as soon as they make it into the bedroom, Nick passes out from exhaustion and alcohol consumption. It’s the funniest thing ever, but Harry’s unconscious before the smile even leaves his face.

~~~

The Brits approach and with them the knowledge that Harry has to leave. They both know it, and they have both learned enough from the last time Harry went on tour that they can’t just ignore it. But whenever one of them tries to broach the subject, it’s met exclusively with hushed voices and unhappy eyes. Harry will miss Nick, and Nick will miss Harry. Things will not be right for anyone involved for a long time.

Nick’s been planning a pre-Brits party ever since he stopped planning Harry’s birthday party. He’s in a state of perpetual event planning, Nick might have gotten into the wrong profession. Harry promised weeks and weeks back that he would go to it, so when Liam and Louis invite Harry out with them he can only politely decline.

He spends the night on Nick’s arm, quietly believing that he’s allowed to be there. It’s Nick’s party, and Nick wouldn’t invite anyone that he didn’t trust not to speak to the press the next day about how intimate the two were. He knew, objectively, that he couldn’t depend on that.

But he was so tired. Tired, tired, tired. He just wanted to go out and kiss Nick on his mouth and not have to worry about the layers upon layers of consequences that he would have to face if he were to come out. It was 2013, but things were not okay by any stretch of the imagination.

Harry had a nice time. It just felt nice to hold Nick’s hand under the table, and know that he was liked and appreciated and cherished. It’s all he could hope for, under present circumstances. He chose to forget that it was all on borrowed time.

They go back to separate flats because Harry needs to start packing for the tour eventually and Nick’s got work in the morning anyways.

Harry dropped millions on his Primrose Hill flat, but he hasn’t used it for longer than one week consecutively since purchasing it. Nick’s slept over a few times, but he preferred his own home where he had automatic rights over what channel they watched on television. They live in the same neighbourhood, but Harry’s flat is significantly more expensive than Nick’s. And there’s something very intimidating and unwelcoming about a house that costs more than the population of some small countries.

Harry gathers his things rather half-heartedly. Their first few shows will be in London, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll have time to pack later. The shows aren’t _that_ long in the grand scheme of things, but by the time they make their final bow, Harry is always exhausted. The last thing he’ll want to do is decide between which skinny jeans he wants to bring with him on tour (answer: all of them).

It’s weird how distanced he feels from something that is technically his first actual flat. His and Louis’ shared place in the same building as the rest of the boys didn’t count; this was his _actual first home,_ and he feels no more attached to it than a person would to an ill-fitting sweater. He felt nothing for the actual rooms, nothing for the furniture, nothing for the eclectic little bits and bobs his mum had insisted he buy for decoration.

It’s just another testament to how swept away he’s been by this whole Nick thing. Everything else has paled in comparison to the man, leaving every other aspect of his life neglected in the process of both gaining and keeping Nick’s approval. It’s probably unhealthy. Harry wonders if there’s relationship rehab where you’re sent to stop being so fixated on one person. It’d be helpful.

Harry fumbles around his flat for the rest of the night, washing several loads of laundry and trying to fit in his suitcases before changing his mind and deciding to do it later anyways. He lounges back in bed, and he calls Liam and he calls his friend in Glasgow and he calls his mum. He texts the rest of the boys, and he hopes they take it for the apology that it is.

Liam tells him all about something he’s bought Danielle for her birthday. Ellis talks about the garrison of twitter followers she’s gained since the last time they spoke, and his mum just reminds him of mom things like to clean his socks and practice safe sex. None of the boys reply. Harry suddenly remembers why he’s started to almost exclusively talk to Nick: because everyone else is awful.

He steals Tom’s pants for the Brit Awards. He feels like it’s a show of rebellion against some of their nastier management, but he’s not exactly quite sure why. They probably couldn’t care less what he wore, as long as he didn’t shave his head or develop a coke habit.

He’s so nervous, because no matter how many prestigious awards and no matter that they’ve already won a Brit, this is still important. He’s not nearly as comatose with fear that he was around last year. But his lip is still trembling a bit when they perform their signal, and he finds it extremely difficult to joke around and laugh like a normal person when James Corden comes to their table and brings thousands of eyes with him.

They win one, they lose one. And Mumford & Sons is a really good band. He somehow doesn’t mind losing to Mumford.

He looks to Nick during their acceptance speech, and he pulls an awful face before he remembers that oh yeah, he’s on television. He can feel Nick’s smirk on him, burning hotter than the stage lights. Nick iMessages him when he’s on stage, and he feels it buzzing in his pocket. When he sits back down at their table after his heart has stopped palpitating, he checks it.

**Drink up, princess. Quite the night ahead**

Nick ducks out during Emelie Sande’s performance at the end, and Harry sees his quiff bouncing over the tables and follows. He sends a quick text to Louis to tell him that he’s leaving sorry L and the two head to their first after party.

Harry drinks enough to be a bit light-headed, but his mum arrives at the party in a limo and gets embarrassingly sentimental all over his expensive jacket. Nick makes sure to dance with Anne a lot more than he dances with Harry, and he keeps glancing over at Harry as if to make sure that he’s watching, and that yes he’s jealous. Nick just grins. Harry loves him.

With a kiss on the cheek, Anne sends them off after a suitable amount of time. Nick’s chattering in his ear about all the parties they can go to next, and what party does Harry want to go to. He tells Harry that he can choose, because Brit Boys get dibs on where they go to consume their alcohol.

Harry chooses one at random, because he doesn’t much care; just picks the first one he remembers Nick mentioning. The paparazzi are mean are Harry gets steadily drunker as the night wears on. Harry has fun, but this “culturally relevant drinking” is a bit shit. Eventually, he just wants to go back to Nick’s and curl up and be the little spoon. But Nick’s built up a frankly ridiculous tolerance to liquor, and he refuses to leave until he’s properly shitfaced.

By the time Nick’s got a good buzz going, Harry’s turning into a cuddly sleepy teddy bear drunk.

After the third party, Harry’s constant whinging seems to grate on Nick’s nerves enough that he finally relents and lets them go home. They’ve only got a bit more than an hour before Nick’s got to be at work, and neither are going to even bother sleeping. Harry’s overtired, and he’s slipping from drunk to post-drunk, but he still suggests that he goes to work with Nick, just like old times.

Nick grabs a coke in the morning, and they load themselves rather unceremoniously into the taxi. Harry talks for a bit on the show, but Fincham keeps giving him dirty looks as if it’s Harry’s fault that Nick’s quite obviously not up for radio. It probably is.

But as they’re leaving, Harry’s talking to a girl he remembers from the night show but can’t remember the name of. She looks at both of them, but Harry’s way too exhausted for the cheeky grin she gives them.

“You two make a really good couple,” she says, nodding.

Nick laughs, but it’s his “I’m uncomfortable and tired” laugh. “Oh, god. No, we’re definitely not dating.”

Harry’s heart jumps up into his throat, but Nick’s dragging him out of the studio. He stumbles along, being pulled by Nick’s hand on his wrist. When they leave the building, Nick drops his hand and takes a step away from him, and Harry wants to cry.

~~~

Harry doesn’t say anything until they’re back at Nick’s flat, and neither does Nick. They silently walk through the hallway, and the air feels cold and unwelcoming. Harry stalks off to the bedroom, pulling his stuffy blazer off and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. He can hear Nick’s footsteps following him. But it’s hard to hear over his own rustling as he searches for a shirt, and his heart beating loudly in his eardrums.

“Harry,” Nick calls softly, and at least he has the common sense to know that Harry’s angry. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Harry replies, voice tight. He pulls a shirt at random over his head, and spins around to face the man. “Why did you say that to that girl?”

Nick’s standing in the doorway, and he’s fiddling with his bracelets. “What, that we’re not dating? I said it because we’re not.”

Harry snorts, and shakes his head. He pushes past Nick, walking into the living room even though he has no real destination in mind. He’s just angry, but he can feel it burning out rapidly like it always does. “I cannot believe you. Actually can’t believe you.”

Nick’s the one following him now, but he sounds defensive as he speaks. “What are you going on about? We’re not in a relationship.”

Harry sinks to the couch, trying to massage the headache in his temples he could rapidly feel developing. He could feel Nick's eyes on him from across the room, and he could feel the angst developing within the older man.

"I just don't understand your insistence," Nick said briskly, and he was pacing back and forth now. "What we have is great. We're great."

Harry chuckled, but it was bitter and angry. "And I don't understand your reluctance. Is it so terrible that I want to be with you? That I'm absolutely in love with--"

"Don't, Harry." Nick's voice was harsh, and his tone made Harry pause. He looked up from staring determinedly at his feet, and at the man.

Nick looked sad, and he looked tired. He looked as if he hadn't slept the whole night through in days, and Harry was reasonably sure he could guess the cause of it he were pressed. But it was more than that; Nick looked scared.

And Harry _understood_ that, as much as it frustrated him at the same time. He had heard the horror stories from Nick's friends about his irrational fear of commitment. He knew that the last thing he should expect from the older man was a relationship, and he had known that going in. But a small part of him had hoped that somehow, Nick would get over it. That if Harry loved him just enough, Nick would stop being so afraid of what he hadn't experienced.

He had been wrong.

Harry buried his head in his hands. He could feel traitorous tears start to form behind his eyes, and he knew he was probably only a few seconds away from full on crying in front of Grimmy. Which he had done before, but none of the other times left him feeling so vulnerable.

Nick seemed to realize this too, because when he spoke again, it sounded quieter, and he was a lot closer. "Harry... Are you okay?"

And that was the final straw. Harry shot up from his seat, and before he knew it he was two inches away from Nick's face.

"You're asking me if I'm okay? If I'm okay?! Jesus, Nick. You're such a fucking twat!" Harry was shouting now, and it was already hurting his throat because his vocal cords were not at all used to this sort of strain.

"Harry, I--" Nick was shrinking away, and Harry felt like he was towering over the man even though he was both shorter and younger. For once, it felt as if he had the upper hand in all of this.

"No," Harry spat, and Nick was silenced. "No, can you shut up for one second in your life? Because I'm unbelievably angry with you, and I want you to hear about how I feel instead of just making a joke out of it like you always do."

Harry waited for a second, to see if Nick was going to interrupt. He didn't. Harry continued. "All of this just really proves how much of an idiot I actually am. Because I knew about all of your issues from the start. I knew about how you never commit, because you never failed to remind me both before we started this, and during every step of it. And I'm such a _fucking idiot._ "

He's crying in earnest now, and Nick's just staring at him with an incomprehensible look on his face. It's that same look that he sometimes gets when he scrolls through his twitter, or he reads a particularly nasty article about him. Like he desperately does not want to be there, but he can't figure out a way to evacuate from that particular scenario. Harry can't tell if that makes him angrier, or if it makes him feel worse for Nick. But he's crying, and he's already screaming, so he might as well continue.

"I know you don't want to hear it because you think it'll ruin some bullshit arrangement that you've made up in your head between us, but I just want to say it so much, Nick. I love you, I love you so much. I keep throwing myself at you, and giving myself over completely, and I just want you to feel it too. I love you. Why doesn't that make you happy?"

His voice breaks at the end of his sentence, and he's whining and sobbing pathetically in the middle of Nick's dining room. Aimee's due to come back in just a couple of hours, and Thurston is somewhere hiding from the loud voices. And Nick's still just staring.

Harry backs up, vision obscured by the tears on his eyelashes until he's falling back down onto the couch and covering his face. He feels like he's deflating, like everything that's inside of him is just seeping out and he couldn't get it back even if he tried.

It hurts, because Nick's not rushing over to his side and kissing him better. It hurts, because that's not the type of person that Nick is, and they both know it. It hurts, because Harry _does_ know it, but he still expects it anyway. It hurts that he can keep pouring his heart out and he can keep screaming about how in love he is, but it'll never matter if it’s only him.

When he speaks again, it's almost a whimper, and Nick is still frozen on the other side of the room. "I wasted nearly two years of my life being in love with you." Harry peels his head out of his hands, and looks up at the man that he loves so desperately. "And you can't even look at me right now."

Nick looks at his feet. "I'm sorry." He chokes out.

Harry tilts his head to the side, and in that moment he really understands the meaning of the word heartbreak.

~~~

Harry, as quick as he can, pulls himself together. He wipes his eyes on his sleeves and he runs from Nick's flat. He makes sure to grab all of the things on his way out that he can't live without. His phone, his shoes, his wallet, his Central Park Zoo snow globe that found its home beside the front door. He says a quiet, internal goodbye to everything else he’s forgotten because he's leaving it. He knows that he's leaving everything else behind. There will be no return trip.

He's not completely sure that he can drive right now, through the tremors that are wracking his body but he'll have to try. His house is just around the corner; so close that he can walk there, but he doesn't. He's never wanted to be alone less in his entire life. He considers getting in the car and driving to Holmes Chapel, but he's not sure he'd be able to make it the full way.

He throws himself into his range rover, and he's already in gear before he's actively decided on his destination.

He finds himself on Louis' doorstep, and he allows him a minute of remorse for the issues he's about to inflict upon his best friend and his girlfriend. He doesn't want to include anyone else, being as private about his relationship as he is, but he knows deep inside that he won't be able to handle what's going to happen next on his own.

He knocks, and Eleanor answers.

"Oh, hello Harry." She smiles brightly at him, and she's in a fancy dress as if she's about to go out. "You just about missed us, we were headed out to lunch."

She doesn't seem adequately prepared for the shitstorm he's about to unleash upon her, and he's not too surprised. His eyes were dry, and he had managed to keep his shivering to a bare minimum. Plus, they hadn't spent all too much time together. She can't tell how close he is to breaking down.

Louis can, however, and he chooses that moment to appear at the end of the hall. "Harry!" He calls cheerily, peeking around the corner at him. He makes his way down the entrance hall to his friend, and his expression changes from one of welcoming delight to utter concern. "Harry? What's the matter?"

Louis' standing before him and reaching out to support Harry, and why can't he be in love with him like all those girls on the internet think he is?

"Are you leaving?" Harry blurts out, biting his lip. "I can go, if you need me to."

Louis spares a sideways glance at Eleanor and she shrugs in confusion. "We can go out some other night. What's going on, mate? Is everything okay?"

"No," Harry's whimpering again, and he can even hear the tremble in his voice. Without a second thought, he darts forward and throws himself onto Louis, burying his head in his shoulder.

"Oh, Harry." Louis' wrapping his arms around him, and pulling him out of the doorway and deeper into the flat. Eleanor's fluttering around, closing the door behind him, and he can hear her say she'll put on a kettle in a tone that just _screams_ pity. Oddly enough, Harry's never appreciated her more than he does in that moment. Louis shucks his shoes off, kicking them in the vague direction of the door, before leading Harry into their living room. He's in a grey suit jacket with white chinos rolled up at the bottoms, the twat. He smells like he always does, like sun and warmth and Yorkshire Tea. Harry loves him so fucking much, but not in the way that makes him ache all over and not in the way that will help him right now.

Because it's Louis cooing over him, it's Louis pulling him in his arms and cuddling him on the couch. It's Louis who's not asking questions, but just allowing Harry to cry into his nice jacket, after ruining his romantic meal. It's Louis' girlfriend who is brewing the three of them tea, and it's Louis' girlfriend who is sending discrete texts to the rest of the boys, and who is snatching Louis' phone to get Anne's phone number. It's Louis Tomlinson, and Eleanor Calder, and Anne Cox, and Zayn Malik, and Liam Payne and Niall Horan who love him and accept him and appreciate him and who aren't afraid of being an important part of his life. It's them who he has to lean on, and it's them who all want the absolute best of him, and it's them who he can rely on.

And he loves them all. Loves them so much. But they're not who he needs.

~~~

They’ve been there for awhile, and Eleanor passes him a cup of tea, the scent of peppermint strong in the air and already making him feel more grounded. He sneaks an arm out of the cradle of Louis’ arms, and he wipes his eye before taking it. His crying had died down to more of a long and constant whimper, and when he sees the girl before him he cuts himself off completely. He can’t look her in the eye, somehow.

“Zayn and Liam are on their way over now,” Eleanor speaks tenderly, “and Niall’s gone to pick up some takeaway before coming.”

Harry clears his throat, and nods almost imperceptibly. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, babe.” Eleanor exchanges a look with Louis, before she’s backing from the room, pulling her hair out of the elegant knot it’s in and letting it down.

“I’m so sorry.”Harry says, and it feels like he’s heard that word a thousand times that day. He’s sick of it.

“Don’t even worry about it, Hazza. You’re more important than supper.” He can hear the smile in Louis’ voice, and even though Harry knows he’s just being nice, it still feels good. “The rest of the boys will be here soon, and then we’re all going to make sure you feel better. I hate to see you crying.”

Harry thinks his chin is trembling again, but he just manages to keep from crying. “Thank you, Lou. Don’t know what I’d do without you…”

“Aw,” Louis tuts, and he pulls Harry against his chest by the curls. Harry doesn’t resist, and he snakes his arms up and around him. He’s pleasantly warm, and he’s reasonably okay here. After another moment passes, Louis quietly speaks again. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Harry’s about to open his mouth to reply when the front door bursts open. The two boys start, popping out of each other’s arms.

“Harry?” Zayn’s voice yells from the hallway, and the boy comes barrelling across the threshold and rounds the corner into the sitting room. He’s still wearing his jacket, and he’s tracking mud all over the hardwood flooring, but his expression is unapologetic as he takes in the view of his best friends on the couch.

“Eleanor called me,” Zayn rushes the word, as if he’s on a deadline. He closes in on the two, kicking off his shoes and peeling his arms out of his jacket. “Said something bad happened to Harry. What’s wrong?”

Harry and Louis stand up at the exact same time, and Harry walks towards the winded Zayn. His eyes are dry, but he knows that the skin around his face will be red and swollen and his lips will be torn up from how much he’s bitten back sobs. He’s still holding himself together, but then he’s suddenly noticed that the shirt he’s wearing isn’t his.

Harry looks down at himself, and laughs. It’s Nick’s Dr Dre shirt.

It’s a single syllable laugh, and then Harry’s shaking and crying with renewed fervour. Zayn and Louis fall into place, their arms the only thing holding Harry together.

It’s February 21, 2013.


	3. i needed you and you were gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry is sad a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends. Welcome to another chapter. This took a long time for a valid reason, this time. I had to put valid research into this. Yeah. 
> 
> Also, let me just state beforehand that I have no idea about the schedule of 5SOS. I threw them in there, and then it occurred to me that they're probably not there at that point in time. I don't know. I don't care anymore. As you can tell, it's gone beyond a canon timeline. It'll be AU from now on, sort of. I try and make it coincide with the tour dates according to wikipedia.
> 
> I've rambled on. It's 1:31 am. I hope you like this, even if the end is sort of dumb.

**Part Three - Exes**

The lads are furious, and they all say so in different ways.

Zayn’s quiet about it. Quiet in a way that he’ll pet Harry’s hair and rest his head against his chest for hours and he’ll yell at anyone who even looks like he wants to approach Harry. Liam’s adorably frazzled; keeps trying to fetch Harry tea and he’ll sing soft songs that he knows that Harry likes. Louis and Niall are by far the most obnoxious in their anger, both of them ranting and bad mouthing Nick at any possible opportunity. It’s a bit shit, Harry thinks, because two weeks before Niall had been telling him how much he genuinely likes the DJ, and Louis had only just recently stopped protesting against listening to the Breakfast Show in the mornings.

And now, they can’t stop talking about Nick like he’s the worst person in the world. Like Harry isn’t head over heels for him, even after it’s been made clear that the feeling isn’t mutual. He laughs along with Louis’ jokes, because that’s what he’s expected to do, but every dig at Nick makes a little piece of him hurt even more. Nick might not have given him his heart, but that didn’t give Harry the right to hate him. Didn’t give his friends the right to say awful things about him.

Harry’s just so heartbroken. And they don’t really know how to handle him when he’s upset. He hasn’t been this sad before. He’s broken up with a few girls in the past, but that was before even the X-Factor, which is when his life really began. Since then, his life had become so unbelievable and he was fucking ecstatic about it all the time. He’d be stupid to say that he hadn’t been sad since he had become a popstar, because of course he has. But messing up a solo or reading a nasty article doesn’t even come close to this. 

And he can’t really justify being so devestated, either. That’s what makes it worse. Because while half of him is just despondent grief the other half is ridiculing himself for feeling that way. _It’s just a boy,_ he repeats to himself over and over again until it starts to lose meaning. _It’s just a boy, it’s just a boy. This happens to everyone._

He didn’t think he’d be the type of person who lost his mind when he lost his significant other. But it’s not just losing Grimmy, not really. Harry had One Direction, Harry had his family, and Harry had Nick. That was it. Nick was his entire life outside of his band, all of Nick’s friends were his as well and all of the parties and late nights and terrible house music was what he had when he left the studio, or the tour bus. He lost all the friends in the separation, and he was left being increasingly frustrated that all of his friends were on a payroll now.

And--- and. Nick had just appeared one day and then integrated himself into every aspect of his life. His mum was halfway in love with Grimmy, his sister had given him the nod, and the lads liked him enough to give him the talk. Nick fit in at family dinners, and he fit in under the Christmas tree and he sent Anne a gift last Mother's Day and Harry had never wanted him to leave. He wanted to keep him there forever. He wanted to wake up on Sunday mornings and fry them up some breakfast and make coffee and have three curly-haired brunette kids with him and marry him and spend the rest of his life hearing Nick's stupid laughter in his ear. He wanted to hear his stupid jokes, and kiss his stupid lips and suck his stupid dick until they were proper old and falling apart. He hadn't only based his present around Nick being in his life, but he'd also built a future around him. A future that he trusted Nick enough to stick around for. And that sort of thing just doesn't disappear. 

Louis said that he'd kill Nick Grimshaw, but how could he even smile along in acknowledgment of the sentiment behind Louis' empty threat when he had once counted on taking Nick's last name and pinning it onto his own? And how can he make dumb comments in interviews and kiss fans on the cheek and make off as if nothing's wrong when he can physically feel the emptiness in him from all that he has lost? 

He goes on stage with a broken heart. He performs and the feeling is strangely comforting; that his body and his voice and his smile still worked even though he felt so dismal and gross inside. 

He wasn't handling it well.

And it was just fitting that he would have had to go on a world tour immediately after he had his heart ripped out of his chest. Of course that would happen to him. Of course.

They're in Cardiff, and they need to be in Dublin tomorrow. They stayed a day late because Harry refused to leave the hotel room. He had admittedly become a bit of a diva. Nick would laugh his arse off at him---

But then again, does he really have time to spend thinking about Nick? Later that night, there will be a girl grinding on his hip, and he wouldn't have the heart or the sobriety to tell her off. Sometimes it was nice for a person to look at you, and see their desire burn so openly.

It was March 4, 2013. And he would still miss Nick as he swallows the little pill the girl slips into his palm. 

~~~

Girls aren't what he wants.

He wants boy. Wants boys and their hands and their cocks and their curly body hair and stubbly beards and crinkly smiles with brown eyes and freckles dotting them from their heads to their toes with flyaway hair and loud ridiculous laughter.

He's sure that there are boys who want him but he doesn't want them and that's a problem.

Girls are just so... girlish. Normally Harry has no problem moving from gender to gender because they both have unique and pleasurable things to offer him.

But girls (or, the girls he's hooked up with and the ones he finds in clubs) need constant reassurance of affection and laugh too shrilly and have smooth, hairless bodies even in places where he wouldn't mind a bit of hair. Then again, a girl with a full patch of chest hair might be a bit off-putting.

Harry giggles, but it hurts his ribs, and there’s sweat dripping down from his temples. He can't hear himself think or speak and he can't hear his heart beating in his ears or bursting out from his throat. There's bass humming, vibrating deeply under the superfluous notes twinkling overtop. He can't really differentiate between if he's listening to Ke$ha or Kanye; probably wouldn't be able to recognize it if What Makes You Beautiful started playing, and it doesn't really matter.

Harry was drowning. He was drowning, and he was falling and he was on fire and his throat was burning but he was still drowning. He couldn't breath, couldn't speak, couldn't move a muscle. But he was doing all of these things, and he couldn't stop breathingspeakingmoving but he was going to die.

Heavy bodies pressed into him and he pressed right back. Their sweat mixed with his and he was covered in a thousand different scents of people who were dying too because they were all on their deathbed so they better get the existing out of their system.

The bass pumped too loudly in his eardrums and he couldn't remember where he had put his drink and fuck he really needed another pill because this definitely wasn't what he wanted to feel tonight. He felt as if he was being ripped at the seams. But only dolls had seams, and he was being thrown around enough to be mistaken for one.

He loosened his blazer from his shoulder, and it fell to hang limply on his wrists before it was jerked quickly to the side because Harry was being jerked quickly to the side. He didn't understand what was happening, and he didn't understand how to control his numb, loose limbs without slamming into the people around him. This was bad bad bad, and he wanted to go and curl up in his hotel bed, which was infinitely cleaner than the floor of this club.

A hand grabbed him suddenly, and pulled him out of the solid throbbing of bodies. The hand seemingly yanked him out of his bones, because he went loose in its grip and he couldn't do anything but be dragged and close his eyes. He didn't really care who it was; they could do whatever they wanted to him as long as he wasn't in that raging crowd.

"Are you that guy from the boyband?" a voice crooned in his ears. It wasn't a friendly voice.

"No," Harry leaned into the strong man body until he was being held up entirely by this stranger.

"You look just like that Harry Styles poof." And it's the funniest thing Harry has ever heard in his life, and he tells him so. It's hard to make out through the murky mess that is his brain exactly what this person looks like, but his grip is tight on his hipbone and he assumes it means he wants him.

Harry launches himself at the man's face, and doesn't really care if people are watching or pointing or if anyone else recognizes him. It's so hard for him to go places without being spotted these days. But he doesn't care he doesn't care he swears he doesn't care.

~~~

He lets the man fuck into him from behind, his head buried deep in his pillows and a plethora of blankets. It hurts, hurts a lot, but he just needs someone to touch him.

~~~

There's one last phone call before Nick's completely gone. It's back before they had even left London for the UK tour. Harry doesn't tell any of the boys about it. He's told them everything else, he just needs this one last thing to keep to himself.

Nick calls while Harry's in an airport, and when he looks down at his phone he nearly has a heart attack. He considered not answering it at all, but the caller ID flashes accusingly at him. If he doesn't find out what Nick wants, he will never forgive himself. He excuses himself quietly from the rest of the boys, who barely even acknowledge his departure. Liam and Niall are arguing over something, Louis is half-asleep and Zayn _is_ asleep.

He ducks into a single person bathroom, and locks it behind him. Only when he's securely inside the room does he answer. He's lucky Nick hadn't hung up yet.

"Nick?" He wanted to sound detached, but the second he opened his mouth his resolve disappeared completely. Instead, he just sounded desperate.

"Hullo, Hazza." Nick replied, and he sounded depressingly put together. Harry had spent the last few days crying, only leaving his apartment when he was required by contract to. Nick sounded fine.

Harry doesn't really know what to say, so he stays quiet. He can hear Nick breathing on the other side of the line, and he can't tell if he wants to hang up on the man or apologize and beg for another chance. He leans against the wall of the bathroom, pointedly ignoring the mirror on the far side where he can see how sad and pathetic he looks. It looks as if he's gripping onto the phone for dear life, and the way he's holding his body just looks so _small._

"Alright, so." Nick says briskly, and Harry's going to implode. "I'm calling 'cos Aimee's explained that it's best if I did."

Harry rolls his eyes. Of course he would pin it on Aimee; that it was all Aimee's idea and there was no reason he wanted to call Harry besides the fact that someone told him that he should. He stays quiet, waiting for Nick to continue.

"And... well. Things were left sort of unfinished, and I'd appreciate it if we cleared the air here."

 _And I'd appreciate it if you loved me._ Harry thought, but instead says, "okay. Lets clear it."

"So you and I, we're not going to be whatever we were anymore, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Are we still friends? Are we associating with each other anymore? Shall I delete your number from my phone, and throw out all of my One Direction boxers?"

Nick's jokes are usually charming, but Harry isn't really in the right emotional state of mind to laugh at the belittlement of his most cherished relationship, especially not when it's Nick doing the belittling.

"I'm not going to delete your number, probably." Harry says carefully. "But I'm not going to text you. You can do whatever you'd like, I suppose."

"Alright," Nick sounds breezy, like this is somehow an acceptable answer. Like this whole situation is acceptable. Like he doesn't care. Harry tells himself that Nick's just trying to hide it from Harry. That he's going to hang up the phone and start crying just as much as Harry's been crying. That he feels as empty without him as Harry does.

Harry hopes, without much faith in the truth.

"Good to hear your voice again." It seemingly slips out, and Harry is surprised at his own bravado.

He can hear the answering smile in Nick's voice. "Good to hear yours too, Popstar. This is good for us, isn't it? We've both got too much going on right now. There's not a person alive who could have made it work."

Harry bypasses how much that makes him want to calmly place his iPhone on the tile flooring of the bathroom, then stamp on it. "Yeah. Alright, I've got a plane."

"Oh, of course. Go on, conquer."

Harry hangs up without another word. After he's pressed the disconnect button, he stares at the phone in his hand until it goes turns off from leaving it for too long. "Shit." He curses. He briefly considers listening to some sad music, before realizing that most of the music was introduced to him by Nick, and the rest of it just reminded him of the man.

He didn't cry, though. He left the bathroom with dry eyes, and he boarded the plane without batting an eyelash. He did promo with a cheeky grin. He sang songs without bursting into hysterics.

He had a long day, and when he finally settled down into his hotel room, he threw his phone in the toilet.

~~~

Mornings are dark.

Nights are dark.

Afternoons are dark, but only in his head.

~~~

Harry contemplates becoming a singer-songwriter. He'd write sad love ballads that he'd play on an acoustic guitar. People would respect him for taking his music in new directions. Certain DJs would hear him on the radio, and hate themselves for letting him go because he's so indie now.

Except he can't play guitar. And people'd probably just call him a washed-up popstar.

Doesn't keep him from writing, though.

~~~

It's March 16, 2013 and they're playing in Manchester. Harry hates himself.

~~~

Louis and Zayn and Niall and Liam are getting fed up. Louis walked in on him having sex with a guy in their hotel room.

They're not annoyed that it was a guy. They're annoyed that Harry was buzzing on illegal substances and he lifted a fake Louis Vuitton purse off of a girl at a club to make the guy laugh. When Louis walks in, he chucks it at his head.

Louis ducks out of the room, because he's not about to interrupt him while they’re going at it, but he yells a lot the next morning when the boy's slunk out the back door, and Harry's head is playing a symphony of steel drums directly in his ear that usually accompanies his nights out.

Louis says he's sorry that Nick's been a real dick, but Harry's got to get over it.

He says that Harry's not handling it well.

~~~

Harry can’t stop crying himself to sleep. But he’s getting better at not letting his sobs be audible.

~~~

He spends a week in LA because Cal invites him and he’s sort of completely sick of people looking at him like he’s damaged. He can see it in every pitying face; even Lux pets his hair and lays her chubby baby cheeks against his for longer than she’d allow anyone else to. And he hates the connotation that comes with it, the connection that binds him with their kind words and sidelong glances— that he’s a mess. He’s a mess, because Grimmy used him up and spit him out. Just like he did to so many other boys.

California doesn’t judge him. In California he can take his shirt off and lay in the sun and take a nap and smell the salt on the air. Cal knows that Harry’s post-breakup, but the difference is that he doesn’t say anything, and everyone else doesn’t much care. One night, when they’re walking to a party someone’s thrown on the beach, his friend slaps him on the back and grins into his ear. “Everyone’s damaged goods in California.”

He listens to music Cal likes and smiles for photos with fans wherever he runs into them, and he gets pissed every night. But it’s not the same sort of binge drinking that he’d been participating in back in the UK. He’s drinking because he and his friends are having a good time and he wants to be drunk. Not because he can’t look at himself in the mirror without wanting to swallow a bottle of vodka whole.

Louis texts a few times, but no one else does. And Louis’ on holiday with Eleanor, and they’re both too busy for conversation to move beyond “you alright?” “yeah, you?” “yeah same.”

One night he’s invited to a party and Harry meets a girl named Sierra. Sierra’s got pretty strawberry blonde hair in little braids and lovely sun-kissed skin. She’s tiny and delicate and she’s everything Nick isn’t and that makes Harry feel more in control. Harry’s strong and tall and he’s got broad shoulders and he works out. He can hold her down and squeeze her tight and flip her over his shoulder and he can fuck her, not be fucked. It’s oddly enthralling, not being the one on his back and vulnerable to whatever the other person would give them. He touches her hips and feels her puffs of breath on his neck as he drags his lips down her earlobe.

He almost can’t remember the last girl that he had sex with. He’s sure that it had to have been Caroline, and that was more than a year ago. He was sorely out of practice, but how to touch a girl was not something a person could forget. It’s a puzzle of feeling, of “can I touch you like this?” and “does it feel good when I kiss you right here?” It’s small breaths exhaled with teeth sunk into lips, it’s clenched fists and curled toes and soft moans emanating from the back of her throat.

It’s thighs squeezing tight and hands pulling him down when he eats her out, eyes clenched tight when he’s slipped two fingers deep inside, and warmth.

It’s wearing a condom, because babies are born from nights like this. And he’s missed this, he really has he thinks as he ties the condom off and drops it somewhere over the side of the bed. Girls smell nice, and look nice when the moonlight hits the side of their face and they burst into laughter because she’s just caught his eye and neither of them quite know what to do next. He rubs a hand down the side of her face, but his hand is starting to tremble again. She notices, but doesn’t say a word about it. They both get out of bed, because they’ve just had sex on a strangers bed in a strangers house, and they can’t just drift off to sleep.

Harry kisses her, hard on the lips before they part ways. She doesn’t offer her number, and he doesn’t ask for it no matter how hopeful she looks. Because his hands are shaking quite badly now, and he doesn’t want to offer a reason for it.

He walks back to Cal’s because it’s only 20 minutes away, and he makes it halfway before it’s raining lightly and he wants to cry again.

He goes home the next day.

~~~

On April 1, they're playing in London and Harry gets the pleasure of going home to sleep in his own bed. It's cold and lonely, and he has spent virtually no time in it despite all the months he's owned it.

He hates it. He prefers Louis' couch. Even a stranger's bed feels more familiar to him. He spends the time sorting his possessions into two different piles: things he associates with Nick, and things he doesn’t. In the Nick pile, Harry tosses the Dr Dre shirt, the sweater with the elbow pads that Harry kept stealing from the man, a few other shirts of Nick’s that he kept around to sleep in, the Central Park snowglobe, and a few pictures he’d had stuck to his fridge of the two of them. He folds the clothes nicely, and puts it all in a box. He seals the box with duck tape, and labels it **NICK’S** in black biro, then stands back to review his handiwork. It looks slightly pathetic. He had planned on returning the box and it’s possessions to its rightful owner (or at least gotten one of his mates to), but now he wasn’t so sure. He picked the box up, and shoved it hastily into the back of his closet.

It’s April Fools day, and he expects someone to fuck around with him but they mostly stay clear. He knows that they’re tip-toeing around him, that they’re being extra careful to not jostle his freshly flayed heart. And he can’t tell if he would prefer if they would be mean to him, to push him around and ignore him and tell him what to do and what to say like they always do. One moment they’re breathing down his neck, the next they’re peeking over his shoulder, unsure of how to handle his emotions and mood swings.

A little part of him can’t help but remind him that Nick always knew how to deal with him. Nick always knew when to be gentle, and when to be firm. He always knew perfectly just how much manipulation Harry was comfortable with, and when to draw the line and let him go. He doesn’t want to think about it, but whenever he stands freely, without guidance and with hands that don’t know where to go, he can’t help but remember.

He jumps around on stage a lot, back and forth and up and down, but only because he can audibly hear the reaction to it. He senses it all out, what he can do to make people love him because he needs the reassurance.

~~~

He’s been drinking a lot lately. Been going out to clubs without supervision and inviting himself to uni parties he’s only barely heard about through mutual friends. And whenever someone extends the invitation themselves, with promises of drinks and sex, he’s only too quick to accept.

Because fuck it, really. He’s 19 years old and he’s just gotten out of a unnecessarily monogamous mindfuck of a relationship. Paul’s scolded him more than once about not wandering off by himself and Preston’s developing migraines from all the time he spends with Harry in clubs, or looking for Harry in clubs.

Some nights it’s fun drunk, where he can dance and sing and kiss complete strangers and it feels good. He’ll spin and there are stars in his eyes against the flush of his cheeks. He lives for those nights, and he ignores the bad nights in lieu of the good.

And there are bad nights. _Bad_ nights, where his lack of sobriety terrifies him, where he takes a bit of this and a bit of that and pops little tablets with his shots and then everything just implodes. He took a yellow pill in Newcastle with a pretty star on it which his new friend he’s made just 5 minutes earlier gives him for free— _“a rockstar for a popstar”_ \--- and the rushes are so intense he wants to sit in a corner and puke up his guts. When it eventually balances out, he just feels so much fondness for everyone in the world, and he tells everyone he can get his hands on. He reaches out and kisses a few people on the cheek and smiles and he slips away from the crowds and sets up camp in a back alley.

He calls his mum, but it’s the middle of the night so he leaves a voicemail saying that he loves her.

He calls Louis, but it’s the middle of the night and Louis is going to kill him in the morning.

He calls Nick, and it’s the middle of the night but Nick answers anyway.

“Hello?” Says Nick in his groggy-sleepy-boy voice that makes Harry’s heart ache at the familiarity of it. “Harry?”

“Hi,” Harry sighs, and he rests his head against the brick wall. “How are you?”

Nick’s silent for a minute, and Harry can hear the man thinking out loud. “It’s 4 in the morning. What are you even doing? Where are you?”

“ ‘m out.” Harry smiles into the phone. “Just wanted to say that I love you loads.”

Nick doesn’t reply, not that any part of Harry, sober or not expected him to. He’s just really affectionate. And high.

Harry fiddles with a piece of rubbish on the ground with his shoe, and the night air feels very nice on his hot skin. Behind him, the club door bursts open and the man who gave Harry the pill is gesturing for him to come back in. He’s got a really nice grin, Harry decides with a giggle.

“I’ve got to go,” Harry tells Nick matter of factly. “ ‘m really horny. Bye!” He hangs up his phone, without even waiting to hear what Nick says, and chases the boy with a baggie of drugs in his back pocket.

~~~

Louis smacks him in the morning, because apparently Nick had texted him at half 4, telling him that he needed to go collect their popstar before he hurts himself. As soon as Louis’ told him, he desperately wants to unhear it. He doesn’t know if Nick’s being cranky or trying to be funny or if it means he’s annoyed that Harry called or if he’s worried about him, and he can’t deal with that. He could never deal with people being angry or cross with him. Even now, when every part of him is telling him that he shouldn’t give a shit what Nick thinks about him, he still cares.

But it just doesn’t work that way.

~~~

Liam pulls his pants down in the middle of his solo on the 6th. They all think they’re being funny, but Harry’s face burns in embarrassment and a sense of shame that he normally never associates with being naked. He’d be naked all the time, if people wouldn’t be offended by it. He doesn’t (usually) care.

He tugs his clothing up and fastens his jeans on properly, avoiding everyone’s eyes with a tiny smile on his face, to show that he’s not mad or upset even though he is. Liam’s a dick sometimes. No one seems to get that.

~~~

He smokes on April 12.

He sits on the balcony with Zayn one night, and he quietly slips a fag out from Zayn's pack. The Bradford boy looks sullenly at him, but he doesn't say a word about it. Harry wishes that more people were like Zayn.

He hacks and coughs the first time, and it's awful. But Zayn claps a hand on his back and fetches him a glass of water. They sit outside on a cold Glasgow night and stare out into the dark sky. They can't even look at the stars; it's dark and stormy looking and Harry feels like he's about to throw up.

"How much longer do you think this'll last for, then?" Zayn finally asks.

Harry wouldn't even bother dignifying the question if Zayn didn't sound so apathetic about it. Like this was something Harry had no choice over, and wasn't just being a baby. Harry remembered Rebecca, and he remembered Geneva, and he remembered Haley, and he remembered August, and he remembered all the girls who Zayn wrote songs about and angsted over before finally moving on, and finding Perrie.

Zayn could easily grasp the notion of being destroyed by someone, because Zayn and Harry could be very similar when they wanted to be.

When the sensation of tobacco in his system finally became less biting, Harry takes another drag. He thinks about seeing Nick with a cigarette in between two long fingers, and he looks out at the city. "I don't know."

Zayn nods, and he didn't ask anything else.

"I just." Harry was so sick of crying. So finished with having heavy stones in his stomach that he needed to lug around with him all the time. He didn't want to cry anymore. He didn't want to sing to people with a smile on his face, and then duck off stage in between songs because he still can't believe he was so _stupid_ and _pathetic_ and that he fell in love and it wasn't good enough to convince a person to love him back. He stubs the cigarette out on the balcony. "I thought he was my boyfriend."

Zayn didn't coddle him anymore. He didn't pat him on the knee and treat him as if he were made of glass. He barely even looked at him. "I thought he was too."

~~~

On April 19, they have some time off between Manchester and Paris. He spends the majority of it remembering what he was doing that time last year. May 2012, manoeuvring through Sweden, smiling and laughing and texting Nick constantly. He remembers blowing people off, and _please let Liam sing first I just need to call Nick back_. He remembers Nick fucking him beside the switchboard in the dark studio, and giggling and that sense of adventure because of how forbidden it all was.

And now, he's just sad.

He was planning on spending the entirety of his days off doing nothing related to anything or anyone on his payroll and moping, but the plan sort of falls through when he goes home to Holmes Chapel and Ben Winston invites himself alongside with him to film something else for the movie. Harry would tell him to fuck off, but Ben was getting increasingly more stressed out the closer it got to August without the movie being completed. And Harry is exactly the type of person who’ll sacrifice his own happiness for someone else’s benefit. He couldn’t be a boyband member if he didn’t.

In Holmes Chapel, he spends a few hours filming a scene for his first kiss and he talks about the countryside a bit more, but then they’re packing their things up and telling Harry they’ve gotten enough. He spends a few days at home, and he and his mom have a long talk about people breaking their hearts, without mentioning any names or admitting to hurt feelings. Harry doesn’t mention Nick once, and it feels so wrong because last time he spoke to her— like actually spoke to Anne face to face— he had been so disconcertingly obsessed and in love with him that he could barely go for an extended period of time without talking to him, or about him.

He talks to her about music festivals and California and male American models, and she tells him that anyone who chose a few California boys over Harry was a bigger idiot than she ever thought he could be. Her comments get more and more jagged and pointed as the night goes on, and he eventually retires to his old bedroom when the thinly veiled snarkiness gets too much for him. 

The next day at around lunch, he heads back to London because he’s been invited to a few parties and they sound a lot better than pouting about his unresolved issues around his mum’s house for the only days he really has off until June.

It’s at the very first uni party that he attends when he returns that he meets Duke.

Duke’s a friend of a friend; oddly connected to his little group of 19 year old hipsters who are far less impressive than Harry’s previous circle. But it’s odd hanging out with Nick’s friends when Nick’s not a viable option to hang around with. He’d tried getting into contact with Cara, but she was busy and not inclined to create the controversy that only comes when Harry associates with females. So he was trapped with people who were vaguely strangers to him, people he’d met once and they’d exchanged numbers at their insistence, not Harry’s and he’d get the occasional text and the occasional invite to one of their parties. They’re not shy, which Harry respects and there’s always a steady supply of drinks, but that’s almost all of their redeeming qualities. He can’t stand for longer than 10 minutes in a room of these people without at least one of them pulling out their phones and tweeting or texting or facebooking about how they’re  _hanging out with Harry Styles!!!_  

But Duke’s not like that. Duke’s a small guy, all sharp bone structure and no height and pale skin. He’s got the most amazing blue eyes, which Harry’s drawn to because they look almost grey when his eyelids are fluttering over them. He’s soft-spoken, but not quiet, and he exudes a confidence that he’s always found absolutely irresistible (see: Louis Tomlinson. Nick Grimshaw).

Duke’s a rugged and masculine name, but he doesn’t match it at all. He’s adorable, and Harry likes him from the get go, and it might have something to do with the fact that he doesn’t ask for a picture, doesn’t ask Harry to tweet him, doesn’t ask for anything. Harry appreciates it, and the fact that he thinks he’s really hot and he looks nothing like Nick is just an added bonus to the mix. He also seems to understand that an actual relationship isn’t a viable option for the two of them, and it almost feels like the arrangement he had with Nick in the beginning. _When you’re here, I’ll be here for you._ He tries not to think about how disastrously it ended last time.

He heads to LA because Nick’s just left it, Duke chasing after him and he wastes a few days getting wasted and having sex with Duke. It’s weird because Duke exclusively likes to be fucked, while Harry’s only doing the fucking if he’s fucking a girl. He doesn’t love being on top, but he does love having sex, so he deals. And so what if it doesn’t feel the same in any aspect? He needs to stop watching romance movies. Sex is sometimes just sex.

He takes Duke up on fucking other people, though. He doesn’t seem to mind. And Harry can’t really bring himself to care.

~~~

It's April 29th, and he still misses Nick.

But it's less of a constant, debilitating heartbroken feeling, and more of a dull ache that still never dissipates, but it's certainly manageable.

Liam tells him that means he's getting over it. That it means he's healing. It's not a thing that he ever planned on doing. A small, infinitesimal part of him was halfway convinced that he'd get Nick back one day. That all of this would just be a distant, bleak half-forgotten memory that he won't even think about when he's gotten back together with Nick.

Harry's spectacularly drunk when he tells the boys this, curled up and miserable with feelings of inadequacy in their hotel room.

Louis finally snaps when he hears it. He’s been supportive and encouraging of Harry’s ‘recovery’ for the past two months, but he’s not the most patient on the bets of days. He reaches over and snatches the bottle of Jack from Harry's fingers, and slams it so hard on the desk that he's surprised it doesn't smash into a million pieces.

"You need to get the fuck over Grimshaw." Louis hisses, and he pulls Harry roughly to his feet. Harry's loose and pliant, and something in his shoulder burns at the movement. He nearly falls back down, but Louis catches him. His face is twisted disdainfully, and Niall and Liam are watching from the sidelines with worried looks on their faces. "We get that you're hurt, but honestly Harry. Acting like a pathetic sod isn't doing anything. It's no wonder he doesn't want you."

As soon as he says it, Louis visibly regrets it. Harry's pissed, but it still hurts and he definitely feels that all the way down.

He adds it to rest of the sadness he's already carrying.

Liam steps forward, and Louis' grasp on his arm tightens. Harry rips away, erratically trying to get away from them. He's not even crying, and he's proud of himself for that. He sees the open balcony door, where Zayn's snuck off for a smoke and he launches himself out to it. He just needs some air.

Three sets of panicked voices call after him, because he's moving far too fast to avoid colliding with something outside. His foot catches on the bottom of the door, and he stumbles drunkenly onto the landing. In all likelihood, this probably saved him from going right over the side of the railing and catapulting down a 80 foot drop.

He scrapes the heels of his hand, but he's not dead and he supposes that's comforting. And that really describes his life these past weeks: not dead. And that's funny, isn't it? He rolls onto his back, pressing his stinging wrists into the rough fabric of his stage shirt. He's probably getting blood all over it, but he can't stop laughing and it's funny.

Zayn and Louis are kneeled down at his sides, trying to pull him up again to shepherd him inside. Liam's yelling something indistinct and Niall looks like he's about to cry, frozen in place in the doorway. Harry doesn't feel bad about it; it's their fault he's there in the first place. If he hadn't been put into a group with them in 2010 he would have been sent home because he's shit. And he wouldn't be in a hotel room in Paris, drunk and hysterically laughing because he's not dead.

It’s his second last big breakdown around his band mates. After that, he gets a lot better at pushing all his excess sadness that still somehow seems to course through his body like riptides where others can’t see it. He stops thinking about Nick around the boys.

~~~

The last day of April, Harry's woken up to the sounds of Nick's voice in his ear.

He startles awake, and he has jumped out of bed before he realizes that his one nighter has the Breakfast Show on as he gets ready for work.

Once he's up, he can hardly pretend to be asleep to avoid awkward morning small talk. He chats with the boy he's spent the night with, who brews him a strong cup of coffee because he's out of teabags.

Harry sips at his cup in the kitchen, wearing only his boxers as he leans sleepily against the counter. His curls are ruffled every which way, and he's quiet as he watches a rather unfortunately named Alfie bustle around his flat as he readied himself for the world of business. He's rather impressed. If he had to be up at 9 the next morning, Harry would not be out the night before until the wee hours of the morning picking up spiralling popstars.

Alfie's quite cute, though. He’s got freckles on his shoulders and his hair is an impossibly light shade of copper. Red hair, but he's not pale and pasty; on the contrary his skin resembles Louis in that it has an undertone of permanent gold. He's well built, strong arms with no abs but a firm stomach. His happy trail makes Harry very happy in return, and he mourns it's loss when he buttons a blue dress shirt up and over it.

He's well fit, and Harry is pleased that he picked out a good looking one for once. His boys lately, Duke being the exception, have been a bit scummy. He briefly entertains the notion of asking this boy out for dinner at some time. Of going on dates with him. Of falling in love with him, of moving in, of getting married, of having kids, of growing old.

He forgets about it as Alfie starts shuffling him out of his flat, promising with his nose up in the air that he _won't tell on him_.

~~~

It’s May and he’s holed up in a hotel room somewhere. He’s fairly certain he’s in Amsterdam, because he’d heard Niall going on about it, but otherwise specific locations are getting pretty redundant. And they haven’t even gone overseas yet.

He’s got a bit of a headache, but only a strong enough one that makes him not really want to do much of anything, so he shoos everyone out of his room and turns off all the lights and draws the curtains. His plan is to play on his phone in bed for a while until he’s tired enough to drift off. He unsheathes his phone, turns the brightness way down, and opens twitter.

One of the first tweets in his mentions catches his immediate attention, and he clicks the link attached to the _“when people think you and your best mate are shagging, eh grimmy? #sweatingit @harry_styles @grimmers”_. He feels the tightness in his chest begin to develop again as he watches the accompanying clip.

He calls his mum.

“Hi mum,” he begins miserably, “did you know Nick has a new show?”

“What?” Anne’s clearly busy, chattering going on in the background. Harry vaguely remembers her telling him that she was going to be helping with a charity event for the next little while.

“It’s called Sweat the Small Stuff, and he looks so good. He looks so good without me.” He’s glad he’s already in bed, because if he weren’t he would have collapsed dramatically into it at that moment.

“Oh, Harry.” Anne replies, and it’s quieted down in the background, so he assumes she’s moved to a different room.

“Did you know he had a show?” Harry demands, feeling a bit cross.

Anne sighs. “Yes, I did.”

Harry rests his head on his pillow, and closes his eyes. He’s becoming more and more disenchanted in the conversation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it has nothing to do with you,” Anne replies, in a firm tone. “Nothing he does has any effect on you. You’re better than him.”

He chuckles. “No one’s better than him, mum. Especially not me.”

"Harry Edward Styles, you stop that right now." Anne spoke quietly, in the way that Harry could tell even over the phone that she wished that she could do nothing more than have her arms around him. "You are incredibly special. And it's not because of any reason I can tell you. You're not special because you're famous, you're not special because of the amount of money you have in your bank account. You're special because it is your basic human right to be so. No one has the ability to make you feel bad about yourself unless you give it to them."

"Mum--"

"No, I really need you to know this." Anne sighed sadly. "And I'm not going to inherently tell you he is a bad person for not returning your feelings. He's a bad person for being careless with those feelings and walking all over you, but you're also stupid for letting him do it. You deserve someone who treats you like you're the only person in the world, and it took me years to figure out that you can't just quietly assume that it'll happen. You have to demand it, through your actions and your words."

Harry’s crying silently, again, but he’s long since accepted that he’s a crier. The tears feel different than they have been of late, though. These ones don’t make him want to hide away in the corner of his room and accept just how pathetic he is. These don’t make him feel like he’s nothing. “I didn’t know that.” He squeaks, and it sounds like a whimper but it’s his mum and she won’t judge him. “Didn’t know that before.”

“Oh, my sweet baby.” Anne coos, and Harry’s pretty sure that she’s crying too. “Of course you didn’t. You’re young, and you couldn’t have possibly known.”

“I just feel so bad,” Harry’s chokes. “I feel so bad all the time, still, and I feel worse because it’s been ages and it’s just a boy. It’s just a breakup. People do it all the time, and they get over it. They’re all so sick of me being so sad all the time, but I’m just so sad.”

“Because they’ve never loved as fiercely as you.”

“I won’t anymore. I can’t do this again.”

“No no no, Harry.” Anne sounds urgent. “It’s something you should never give up. Never stop loving with all your heart. You feel everything with such clarity that it scares me. It always has. It makes you better than the rest of us. Never stop loving even when it doesn’t quite make sense. If you stop, you’ll just end up more miserable than you’d ever be after 1000 heartbreaks. When you find that person that lets you love them like you do, and loves you just as much, every tear will be worth it.” After that, Anne’s quiet, which is just what Harry needs at that moment. They find comfort in just the sounds of each others breathing, and in the knowledge that Harry’s crying is smoothing into soft gasps.

~~~

Recovering from a break up is sort of like recovering from an addiction.

Some days will be okay. You'll wake up in the morning and from the get go you're a little bit sad because you're feeling a bit strange for no discernible reason, but it's easy enough to put aside. You get dressed and go about your day thinking about things that are important in the moment, and things about your future that have nothing to do with the Thing. You'll go to sleep that night and realize that you haven't much thought about it that whole day, and you sort of hope that maybe all days will be like this.

Other days you can't peel yourself off the mattress even if you tried. Some days you get cold sweats and weepy eyes and your muscles just _ache_ and you can't stop thinking about it. You can't stop thinking about every single detail of when this Thing was yours, and you blank out on everything that was bad, only thinking of everything that was amazing. The feelings you felt when you were happy, and when you were whole. You unconsciously associate this Thing with perfection because it's all you care to remember, and then it results in not being able to think of it in any other light than _it was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I would kill to have it back._

On those days, Harry calls his mum on his brand new phone a lot. She encourages him out of bed, and she tells him that it's okay if he can't get out of bed himself. That at some point, he'd be able to do it all by himself.

Anne's still furious with Nick, but she doesn't tell Harry this. But Harry is her baby; and she hates everyone and everything that makes him hurt. She hates it that this man had so carelessly broken her son's heart. She hates that her Harry has to recover, and she hates that she did not stop any of this from happening.

Harry is just sad.

~~~

He’s had a few good days when he sees it (because that’s what it is lately. A handful of half stumbling days, of picking himself up again, of persevering despite the fact that it feels like he’s lost his center of balance).

But then he sees it, and it kicks his legs right out from under him. It’s May and the date on the video says it aired in early April. Celebrity Juice is all in jest and he knows it, everyone knows it. But it still aches a little bit to hear the words “Harry, I miss you I love you,” come out from Nick’s not lips, and in the knowledge that they’re words that have never been said by the man. And he looks miserable, looks gutted to even “say” the words and did it mean so fucking little? Was it so meaningless that he could go on with his life and on game shows and be irritated that he’s even associated with Harry’s, that Nick Grimshaw and Harry Styles could ever belong in the same thought?

It makes him sick to his stomach, because he would have signed his life away to Nick if he asked. Would have given every single molecule of himself and given every penny. And Harry, somewhere deep down in the small and reasonable part of his brain knows that Nick’s denying it for him, to protect Harry’s career and his image. But it still feels like a slap to the face.

He kicks the table he is standing beside while streaming the video. It hurts his foot, but he barely feels it in his frustration. It’s one of the tables with snacks on it that he had been looking for originally, before being distracted by the ghost of his ex-boyfriend (not even ex-boyfriend. Ex- _lover._ Nick had never been his. The tattoo on Harry’s foot burns). The stage is being prepared for them, and there’s people running around everywhere. It reminds him that he’s just a small and insignificant part of all of this. He’s a very visible part, but a cog all the same.

Harry grits his teeth and moves to find the others, the other overly visible wheels spinning. He takes a few steps then promptly a man rushing forward smashes into him, dropping a large stage light that he held in his fat arms. 

“What the fuck!” The man snarls, unfaltering in his anger even when he looks up and sees that it’s _Harry Styles_ he’s yelling at. And Harry has been begging for people to treat him normally, like he’s not delicate or already damaged, but he wishes it all back as his eyes start stinging in reaction to the yelling.

Harry stutters out apologies, but the man keeps yelling about how expensive it is and how much trouble he’s worth and how he’s useless. Small crowds of techies and crewmembers have gathered around and he sees out of the corner of his eyes that they’re snickering behind their hands at the celebrity getting what’s coming for him.

He turns on his heels and flees, leaving a mess and a crowd of hateful eyes judging him for how privileged, lazy and stupid he is. He wills the tears inside, begs himself to stay dignified and he succeeds with a face that feels as stiff and as liable to crack as he is.

He finds them all in the dressing room, save for Niall and Zayn. He squeezes himself onto a couch beside Michael, the rest of them mostly ignoring his arrival. “You alright?” Michael makes room for him under his arm.

“Yes.” Harry snaps, and it makes him feel worse. Michael drops it, but Louis overhears and Louis gets ridiculous when he thinks people are being rude. He turns away from play fighting with Liam and toward Harry. “Back from the snacks, then?”

Harry nods once, body tensing up defensively. Harry rarely gets angry, but he’s like a wounded animal when he’s back up against a wall. 

“You do know we have food in here, right?” Louis laughs breathlessly, like he’s just told a hilarious joke. And he has, because Harry’s stupid and his sheer stupidity is a running joke amongst them.

Harry just nods again. Calum though, from the other side of Michael on the couch reaches a hand out. “Speaking of, can you throw me a water Lou?”

With pure, shitty instinct, Louis lurches to grab one of their king sized cups full to the brim with water he’d been drinking out of and launches it at the vague direction of the couch. To Harry, it seems to go in slow motion. He knows what’s going to happen as soon as Louis’ hand touches the cup, but he barely can open his mouth in time to say anything before getting a mouth full of water. The water soaks all three boys sitting, and the rest of the room has started laughing uproariously at the misfortune of Harry, Michael and Calum. Calum’s got a look on his face, like he can’t believe this happened but he brought it upon himself. Michael is clutching at his hair, but he’s laughing too because they’re sports.

Harry however, is sputtering the water that he’d manage to inhale and has shot up and out of his seat. He’s shaking his hair and his hands out, trying to rid himself of the water like a dog might. He’s already changed into his stage clothes. This is terrible. “What the fuck!” He finds himself repeating the man who’d yelled at him not even 10 minutes ago, matching his tone and volume.

Louis, still giggling, moves to pat Harry on the back or something. “Relax, Haz. It’s just water.” 

Harry jerks away from Louis’ touch, and it’s at that moment that the older boy’s face falls and something in his eyes seem to sharpen. Just like Harry had seen himself getting soaked coming, Louis could see this.

“It’s just water, but you don’t have to be such a fucking twat about it!” Harry’s suddenly shouting, and all the laughter in the room has stopped and he has their undivided attention, so he can’t stop now. He feels like a bottle of soda that someone’s shaken, and now he’s being uncapped. “These are my clothes, it’s my job and now I’ve got to go get fucking changed. Do you have to be such a dick?”

“Harry,” Liam jumps in, defensive of Louis. “You’re being—-“

“I’m being what?” Harry swerves, rounding on Liam now. “Erratic? Irresponsible? Am I acting like a child? Or is that just you lot?”

Liam and Louis are closing in on him, while the entirety of 5 Seconds of Summer watch on with slight horror. Harry doesn’t care. “Why are you all allowed to be stupid and reckless, but whenever I say or do anything I’m automatically beneath you because  _ooooh Harry’s just upset ‘cos he got dumped. What an idiot!”_ The two boys grasp onto his shoulders, and he can’t escape now so he just sort of collapses into them, and their whispered reassurances and apologies. 

“And I am an idiot,” Harry’s quieter, but he’s still shouting. “I’m stupid and sad and I can’t afford to be anymore, you’ve made it all perfectly clear. I don’t want to go and sing but I need to and I need to look like I’m not falling apart even though I already did.”

“Hazza,” Louis coos, tight smile on his lips. “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re all going to be okay.”

“I didn’t know you were still like this,” Liam said quietly, “I thought you were okay.”

Harry closes his eyes, still soaking wet, and breathes in the sound of _you’re okay_ and _I thought you were okay._ Because those are very different sentiments, and he’s not exactly sure if either are untrue. “I’m not stupid.” He says, after a moment. “I’m not.”

Louis’ dragged him over to the side of the room, and has jumped up onto a perch in front of Harry, who slumps against the wall. “Of course you’re not,” Louis assures him seriously. “We’re only joking. None of us think you’re stupid. Or an idiot. Right lads?” He gestures to the rest of the room, where the boys all look like there’s 1000 places they’d rather be. They nod a bit too enthusiastically to be thoroughly convincing, but Harry appreciates it all the same.

At that moment, Lou Teasdale walks in the dressing room with an irritable looking Zayn in tow, and she’s fussing with Zayn’s deflated hair. Zayn keeps trying to swat her hands away with one hand, and hold a phone up to his ear in the other. Niall trails after the two, and he’s got a bag of crisps in one hand and he saunters merrily towards the boys on the couch. He points at the sopping wet boys. “What’s goin’ on?”

The flurry of movement breaks the tension that was hovering in the air, and everyone but Harry breathes an audible sigh of relief. Harry shakes his head, shrugging his way out from under Louis’ fingers that are clutching onto his shoulders. Louis looks at him, studying his face for any signs of further mental breakdowns but Harry refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he moves towards Lou to ask for a change of clothing.

~~~

Sometimes he believes it is only an imagined loss.

Like, could he have possibly gained, kept, and lost something that is not a real, quantifiable loss?

He hasn't lost anything. He still has his limbs, his body parts are still attached. His traitor heart is still beating; it hasn't been ripped out after all. He spends hours a night just listening to its steady rhythm inside of him. With the always changing scenery around him, and with the people in continuous flux, that heartbeat seemed the only real constant thing he had left.

People go. He had his boys, but that could change, couldn't it? Nick had been his constant. Now all he had left was his continually beating, continually healing heart.

~~~

Duke calls at the end of May, which is unusual because Harry’s unused to boys he’s having casual sex with actually contacting him outside the world of casual sex. Duke asks him if he wants to go for a drink, and Harry lies and tells him that he’s still on tour because he’s not too enthused about expanding their relationship beyond the sheets.

It seems to be a bad idea, because Duke tells him that he knows Harry’s lying, and that he’s a bastard, and that just because he’s famous doesn’t mean he’s allowed to be a cunt. He hangs up on Harry’s ear, and Harry just throws his phone on a table nearby, and turns the volume off completely. He’s just come back from Istanbul, which was incredible, and he has depressingly little time off before he needs to be in Mexico on June 8. He wants to spend it with people he likes more than he likes Duke.

He ends up going back to Holmes Chapel for a couple of days, because he realizes that his list of people he likes in London is distressingly small. He flies to California a few days before the 8th, chosing to just meet the rest of them there so he can spend some time in the USA.

He’s not seriously considering moving to America. It’s too dry in California and he hates the stigma behind living in America. But it’s nice, because being in the United Kingdom gets a bit stifling after so often. He can’t drive down the M6 without being photographed by someone with no concept of ‘don’t use your mobile while driving’. America’s relatively subtle, and he can get lost in the mass of Californians for days without once being asked for an autograph, or seeing someone taking a sneaky picture of him. He just likes the anonymity.

And the more time he spends away from London, the more and more he realizes he really likes warm weather. He likes the hot sun on his skin, and he likes being able to go more than a few days without the concept of rain being threatened upon him, if not inflicted. He likes the California heat. He likes California. Maybe he will move to California.

When the break is over, he meets up with the rest of the boys in Mexico City. They’re all delighted to see him, having not spent any time with him in what felt like forever, and without really texting or talking much. Liam spends a lot of time staring at Harry, commenting on his tan with a tight smile and worried eyes. Harry tries to non-verbally assure him that he is fine, but he’s not sure how effective it is. Liam moves on eventually anyways, the attention span of a gnat on that boy.

The show reminds him of last year, being on the Up All Night tour in the American arenas. Mostly because the entire show feels like him just sweating through all their songs, with a break for water every 5 minutes, bathroom runs every 10.

They all go out after the show, because the legal drinking age in Mexico is 18 and they’ll be in the States and Canada for a long time. Harry drinks, but he doesn’t get drunk and Louis keep sending him funny looks as he bounces around the club they’ve found. Harry just smiles wryly, sipping at his lone beer he holds tightly in his hand. Niall says something about California’s changing him already, turning him into some sort of ultra-vegan health conscious weirdo. He’s not, he’s just tired of the taste of cocktails and the sting of late nights and aching mornings. He’s 19 years old, and starting to get proper hangovers. And frankly, he’s concerned by the amount of alcohol he can consume without even really getting buzzed. He’s finished drowning himself in substances.

He doesn’t mention that, just lets Niall have his fun because he knows he’s joking. He misses them all. He misses them joking with him. Zayn comes to sit beside him at the booth Harry’s claimed, and he kisses him sloppily on the cheek. Zayn’s not a big drinker, but he’s usually wound so tight that he likes to take the times like this to indulge and relax.

“I told you so,” Zayn simply says. He offers no further explanation, and Harry doesn’t need one to know what Zayn’s implying. _I told you it wouldn’t last forever_.

“This too shall pass.” Harry quotes while he raises his bottle towards the Bradford boy, smile curling on his face.

Zayn grinned at him, and raised his own and clinked their bottles. “It already did.”

~~~

Summer of 2013 had arrived agonizingly slowly, but it did. It brought with it warm weather and memories of even warmer kisses and a handful of days in Spain.

And more importantly, it brings perspective, and startling clarity. His entire relationship could be summarized as those handful of days; hasty kisses behind closed doors with impending knowledge of an eventual end when Harry would be whisked away and forced a smile on his lips. It’s a bit strange, being so deeply and wholeheartedly in mourning for something that had an expiration date stamped on it from the start.

He had known it was going to end badly for months and months prior to it ending badly. Maybe he was so shaken because he had seen it from miles away, but still couldn’t stop it.

Then again, he could name a million different reasons for him being sad. He had a different theory everyday. He was just glad for the warmth. The cold just brings back Nick.

~~~

In June Gemma texts him and tells him not to check The Sun. He’s at home, on a break between the American leg of the tour. He resists for as long as he can, but he’s always been a bit of a masochist when it comes to articles written about him.

**Just What is Up With Harry Styles Anyway?**

HARRY STYLES of One Direction leads a turbulent life. Jetting across the world every other weekend, having famous pals in a party crew, and being linked with the most eligible (and some not so) bachelorettes worldwide. But yet, the hunky young lothario seems to have lost the pep in his step, and his trademark grin. 

After a highly documented relationship with country turned pop sensation Taylor Swift turned sour, so did things for young Harry. "He hasn't been the same since they split up," a source close to the popstar reports. "It didn't really sink in for him until it was too late. I think he really liked her."

When asked about Taylor Swift, Styles was demure and respectable of his scorned ex-lover, even after a dig at him during the 2013 Grammy awards, when Swift made a not so swift dig at the singer's accent during a performance of _We Are Never Getting Back Together_. Styles said, “Oh it’s fine. She’s a great performer and she’s always good on the stage... she’s done it for a long time. She knows what she’s doing on stage. It was just another good Taylor Swift performance. It was good." But while talking about his past relationships for the 1D3D movie  _This Is Us_ coming to theatres this summer, he dubbed his whole relationship with Swift to be a "pain in the arse", and going on to describe how he's been unlucky in love.

So if Harry Styles isn't crying over fling with Taylor Swift, what then? 

Unconfirmed reports of Styles crying in clubs are surfacing left and right, alongside documented proof of episodes of binge drinking, possible drug use and rumours of public breakdowns, similar to those of Justin Bieber's earlier this year. Inside sources say that there has been discourse amongst the members of One Direction, and that all of the problems are primarily caused by, or about Styles. "He's really going mental," a friend told the Daily Mail last week. "He hasn't been the same since around he turned 19."

Additional rumours of Styles being heartbroken have also surfaced on the internet-- but not over Taylor Swift. The dashing host of the BBC Radio 1's Breakfast Show Nick Grimshaw has allegedly been linked to the popstar. Known for their so called 'bromance', the pair has appeared to have a falling out. Speculation on just how close the two were have been the topic of conversation in British media for several months. Grimshaw, age 28, was first photographed with Styles since they met at a GQ dinner in 2011, and has been regularly spotted at his side up to February of this year. Grimshaw hosted two birthday parties for his friend, and even spent all night with Styles after the Brit Awards 2013. So, if Nick Grimshaw and Harry Styles are so inseparable, where are they now?

Last month in early May, "Grimmy", as affectionately referred to by his listeners, tweeted the link to a video by Danish singer-songwriter Oh Land. The song, called Deep-Sea contains lyrics such as:

[ _So long under water /I couldn't hold my breath no more/Sinking into the bottomless deep /Knowing you were the only one who could rescue me/I needed you/ And you were gone /That day_ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mE5pF0boBwc)

Styles, and all members of One Direction were unavailable for comments, but when asked Anne Cox, Harry's mother had this to say on her twitter: "Harry's got a good head on his shoulders. He's okay, and all rumours of him not being okay are ridiculous!"

~~~

Harry checks Nick’s twitter. He’s made a point of not looking Nick up, or looking at his twitter, but this time it feels different. He reads through Nick’s tweets, perusing the conversations he’s had and the occasional inane and generally anti-climatic tweets about life, and he can’t stop smiling. He giggles at a bit of banter between Finchy and Aimee (and god, how he misses them), of which Nick’s RT’d because he’s mentally 8 years old. He finds the link to the song, and he listens to it and it makes him feel sad. Sometimes, in the wake of his own heartbreak, he forgets that Nick is a human being who at the very least lost a good friend when they split up. They were friends first. And that’s so important, even though it hadn’t worked out in the end.

Just as Harry’s seriously contemplating RTing something of Nick’s, his phone scrolls a bit because Nick’s just tweeted something. He refreshes the page, and sees that Nick’s just posted a photo to instagram with simply a fist emoji.

He opens the link, and is greeted by a somber looking Breakfast Clique with matching snapbacks and gold chains around their necks. They’ve all got their arms around each other, and it makes Harry’s heart ache a little bit because he _does_ miss them all.

After a moment of consideration, Harry composes a tweet. “@harry_styles: @grimmers that’s lads.” And that’s how simple it is, that’s how easy. He’s been worried for months about when he’d face Nick again, about what he’d say. And that’s it. He feels relieved.

Barely a minute has passed, before Harry sees that Nick’s tweeted again. His heart jumps in his throat, and he clenches his toes involuntarily. He’s lounged on his couch in his sitting room, and he’s naked (because he loves being naked), and he looks ridiculous with a big grin stretched across his face.

“@grimmers: @harry_styles not lads without you”

~~~

One night, they’re in America and he’s makes the active decision to be okay. He’s known for awhile that he was already, but it’s that second that he really realizes it; he’s entirely aware of his own well-being. He wants to scream it from the skyscrapers and write it into songs because he’s over his mourning period. It’s done, it’s gone.

He tells the boys, and they cheer like they would in a cheesey high school movie.

The burning of the sweater with the elbow pads is a strictly symbolic “fuck you” to Nick. Partly because he won’t let any of them actually call Nick to tell him so, and partly because the boys wouldn’t let him call Nick to tell him they have his shirt please collect it.

He’s been carrying the box with all the things he associates with Nick in his luggage, and it’s been like a constant, dragging reminder of the weight he was carrying on his shoulders. It was a physical manifestation of the poison that Nick had turned out to be inflicting upon his life since Harry started obsessing over him. Only now could he see how flawed his judgment had really been, and really how distorted their dynamic had been. Harry relied on Nick too heavily, and Nick on Harry too little. It wasn’t a partnership. It was a toxic relationship, in which Nick had eventually taken too much. But it wasn’t his fault.

It’s a beautiful night and they had decided to spend it camping as opposed to the usual hotel room or tour bus bunk. Harry’s all bundled up in a mixture of outerwear and blankets dripping off of him as he stands in front of the bonfire Paul got going for them. The boys of 5SOS are there, of course, and they’re looking at Harry not as if he’s to be treated with fragility.

The fire is too hot on his face, but there’s a smile that refuses to subside for even a second. He has the shirt, too long in the sleeves and too many rotting memories stitched into every thread clutched to his chest. Louis and Niall are screaming at him, egging him on to, “burn it! Burn it Hazza!” and Liam is buzzing around drunkenly because he’s still a lightweight and Zayn is sitting at a bench trying not to look too enthused. Luke, Michael and Ashton are yelling with them, but they still seem a bit confused about why he’s burning a shirt to begin with. Callum has disappeared into the woods in search of firewood.

Harry grins at all his friends, and then back at the fire. He follows the pillar of smoke up to the sky, looking at how the trees part just enough to see the smoke joining the stars.

He raises the sweater to his face, and inhales deeply. It doesn’t smell like Nick anymore, and neither does he. His hair doesn’t smell like his shampoo, nor is his skin shaped to Nick’s touch. He doesn’t even remember what his lips felt like on his neck.

He’ll return the box of Nick’s things when he gets back to the UK. This is good for now. Maybe he is okay. Maybe he is as free as the smoke escaping their campsite. In that moment, he feels like it.

He laughs, once, and flicks his wrist and the shirt lands in the middle of the blaze. The night air smells smokey. And he feels okay.

~~~

The rest of the North American tour is just an innocuous stream of time passing, with the occasional highlight. It's probably sad that he's become accustomed to the screaming of fans in packed arenas, but he has. It hasn't lost it's sparkle, and he's still more than delighted that it is his job to sing to them, but it is just not that shocking to him that it happens anymore.

He gets mobbed when they're in Minneapolis when he goes out alone with Paul to see what the city has to offer him, and so he starts spending a minimal amount of time leaving the safety of buildings and doesn't go anywhere without his team. It's a bit diva of him, but a girl had gotten a hold of his curls in the chaos in Minneapolis, and had yanked him so hard he had almost been pulled off his feet, and he didn't really fancy a repeat. 

The longer he had to spend time in America, the more the country lost it's allure to him. And Canada was no better. Someone had gotten a picture of Zayn while he was changing through a window on the 18th story window when they were in Vancouver. Someone from their team had paid the pap off so he wouldn't sell it to anyone, and had the evidence destroyed, but it had still happened and they change with the blinds shut now.

By the time they get to Dallas around the end of July, they're all exhausted and cranky 24/7. They want to go home. They never have more than 2 days off in a row, so taking an 11-hour flight back to London just to turn around and come back seems pointless. Louis and Liam get their girlfriends to fly out to spend a bit of time with them in Vancouver, and they don't need to leave until after a night in Las Vegas, when Perrie joins up with Zayn. Harry considers flying Anne or Gemma out, but they've both got too much going on for a visit. He spends a lot of time with Niall, who seems impervious to feeling like a third (or, seventh) wheel. 

He talks to Nick a bit on twitter throughout July and by August they're texting semi-regularly. They're both being overly cautious after Nick’s initial tweet, careful not to say anything that might upset the other, which means there's not one mention of their entire relationship. But Harry texts him pictures of cool things he finds in the United States, and Nick talks to him increasingly buggier about how he's almost  _29._ Harry laughs at that a lot. He's never really put much thought into the institutes of age, or time passing. It's all pretty much the same thing after you're of age. 

When they're in Chula Vista on the 4th, Harry reminds him, _you're turning 29 in 10 days._

**thanks harry, I nearly forgot thanks for reminding me**

_are you having a party, then?_

**dunno yet. why'd it matter to you, aren't you off traipsing?**

_we're done on the 10th! the american leg at least. am i invited to your party?_

**i suppose. what kind of party would it be without a popstar in a morphsuit?**

_i should start charging for birthday appearances. harold the meat man_

**that's an innuendo if i've ever heard one. and i think you've just found your post 1d gig!!!**

_shut up nick_

~~~

When their plane touches down on British soil, they all cheer a little bit. Getting off the plane and smelling nothing but the smell of hundreds of grumpy people, rain and smog is going to go down as one of his greatest moments. He’s been away for so long, and he’s so happy to be in the land he was born in.

One Direction collects their assorted things, and then they immediately split up. They say their good byes, then go their separate ways because quite frankly they’re sick to death of each other.

When Harry arrives back at his place in Primrose, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s jetlagged and tired, but he’s too worked up and excited to even imagine laying down. He could call Nick, or he could go see one of his other friends.

But he doesn’t, he doesn’t do anything. He orders takeaway because his kitchen is empty, and he stays in his house watching TV and hoping that someone will invite him to something that he wants to go to.

On the 14th, on Nick’s 29th birthday, Harry still hasn’t heard from the man, or from Aimee, or from anyone related to Nick. He sends a quick text, a quick _happy birthday_ , turns off his phone and he packs his car and he heads up to Holmes Chapel.

On the drive, he scolds himself for letting Nick get his hopes up. With the way that they had been speaking lately, he had assumed that he would at least get a call when Nick found out that he was back in London. That he would get a customary invitation to his party, maybe. Not this complete silence. But if Nick was not going to call him, he wasn’t going to call Nick.

He spends Nick’s birthday, and the day after on the porch in his mum’s backyard, reading and chatting and watching Anne garden. They had bought a new place, one significantly nicer than their old one that had a bigger garden and a bigger kitchen. Harry was sad when he was told, because it would mean getting rid of his pre X-Factor room, but they had set up a room for him in the new house, all the same. He was always welcome.

On August 18, a few days after Nick’s birthday, his mum comes out to join him in the garden. She hasn’t gotten her dirty clothes on, but she’s fiddling with a garden glove, smacking it on the back of her hand lightly. Harry looked curiously at her from his seated position on the porch swing raising his eyebrows. His mum was never nervous, or lost for words.

“Harry,” Anne began, in a hushed tone. He had to lean closer to hear her. “Someone’s here to see you.”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, still confused.

“Yes.” Anne looks conflicted, like she doesn’t want to tell Harry about who is here for him. It makes him instantly nervous as well. Who was it? “I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, but he’s been ringing the house for days now, so I assume he really needs to speak with you.”

Harry sits quietly on the swing, and something in his stomach is churning unpleasantly because this whole situation feels wrong. He can’t tell if he wants to kiss Nick, who has just glided into his field of vision and sat on the swing beside him, or to kick him out and scream at him (because how dare he come to Holmes Chapel, his safe place), but all he knows is that the open space between their thighs is burning.

“Hi,” Nick says, looking slightly embarrassed but (curiously) a little starstruck.

“Hi.” Harry replies, rather breathless. He can’t stop looking at the man, staring him down head to foot because he _can’t believe Nick’s here._ Anne slinks away, closing the sliding door behind her and giving them complete privacy.

“So, how’ve you been?” Harry looks away, filling the silence that settled around them. The sun was beginning its descent, and the birds were swooping to Robin’s birdhouses for their final meal of the day. They chirped loudly, but he heard it as if he had his head dunked underwater; it didn’t seem real.

Nick shrugs, and Harry knows he shrugs even though he’s not looking at him because he _knows_ Nick and every single kneejerk reaction. Knows every single nervous tick and every single reflex. “Do you want the abridged version, or the one that really happened?”

Harry considers this slowly, mulling it over in his brain, weighing every letter on his tongue. What good could come out of hearing how awful Nick’s past few months have been? Or how relatively unchanged its been?

In the end, the choice is taken from him. “I’m going to tell you the honest one anyways, even if you don’t want to hear it.” If there’s a slight wobble in Nick’s voice, Harry politely ignores it. “I’ve been rubbish.” Nick admits. “Absolutely rubbish. Been moping around on the couch all too much, and even staying in and watching Nigella is different since you’ve left. Nothing’s the same, is it?”

Harry doesn’t respond, and Nick stands up from his position seated awkwardly beside him. He doesn’t appear to have a destination in mind, no game plan and no speech prepared. He moves as if to start pacing, but then freezes jerkily to a stop. He turns to look down at Harry, and then away again as if he couldn’t bear to look him in the eye.

“I’ve been driving my family mad,” Nick finally continues, after spending a moment visibly trying to collect his scattered thoughts, as flyaway as his hair. “Jane especially. I don’t think she can handle me calling her while I do the shopping because I’ve just found the shampoo you use, or something. A girl walked up to me on the street and asked me where you were, and I almost hit her. I almost hit a child, Harry. I almost hit a child because she reminded me that I don’t know where you are anymore. I never know.”

Harry clears his throat. “You don’t deserve to know.” He says pointedly, and the words feel too sharp, too spiked coming out.

But instead of hanging his head, or getting offended, Nick just smiles wryly. “No, I don’t. You’re literally a million times better than me in every way, even when I’m at my best. You’re funny, and kind, and smart and posh and charming and I still don’t really know why you wanted to go out with me in the first place.”

A reluctant smile makes its way onto Harry’s face. He looks down at the ground, and kicks the dirt under his feet a bit. “Because I loved you, dickhead.” He admits, only feeling a bit embarrassed under the admission.

While he’s looking down, Nick moves to sit down on the swing beside him again. This time, he’s closer, their thighs only a hands width apart. He can feel Nick’s body heat seeping through the inches of space. “Loved, eh?” Nick pulls a fag out from behind his ear, and twirls it between his fingers.

Harry sighs. “What do you want from me?” He demands, turning sharply to look at the man. “A few months ago you made it pretty clear to me that this is exactly what you didn’t want to hear.”

The cigarette twists in between Nick’s long white digits. “Yeah, well. I was stupid. Blasted idiot. Me mum told me that. Even your mum told me that. She didn’t want to help me today.” Something twists in Harry’s gut at that, because Nick’s northern phrasing only comes out when he’s terrified or drunk. Nick looks up from the fag, and smiles weakly at him.

“Why _did_ my mum help you?” Harry asks, looking away and biting at the inside of his mouth as to not say anything else.

Another shrug. “Not really sure, to be honest. She put me through my paces first, though, I can assure you that. She made me promise that I’d tell you something.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Well, that’s what I was getting to.” Nick sticks the cigarette back behind his ear again, and then he turns his whole body so that he’s facing Harry. “When I asked the ‘loved’ thing. Because I reckon it’d be quite shit if I told you that I loved you back and it made no difference.”

Harry’s completely still, looking at his bare feet on the ground. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe because he’s not sure if he wants to hear this. If he can handle hearing this. “What?”

“I’m quite mad for you, Harold.”  Nick laughs, like he can’t even believe himself. “I’m in love with you, and not one day that passed since you ran out that I’ve let myself forget it.”

He closes his eyes, fixes his fringe and messes it up when he puts his head in his hands anyways. “I—why are you telling me this?”

“Don’t you see?” Nick sounds more sure of himself now, like he knows exactly what he’s got to do and what he’s got to say. “I was doing an interview earlier this year, and they asked something about if I’ve ever been in love and I said no because I sort of hated you at that point. But then I went home, woke up the next morning in the flat that reminded me of nothing but you to go to my job where everyone was either talking about you or asking about you and I thought no, I couldn’t be in _love_ with you. I would have noticed, I would have been aware of it.” Nick trails off, and he takes another moment to take a deep breath. Harry waits, because there’s more there’s more there has to be more. “But then I realized. I realized that you’re all I notice anymore. You’re all I think about, you’re all I want and I don’t think that’ll ever change. I’ve been waiting for months for it to change. I’ve waited for months to meet a fit lad and marry him or even remotely like him, but I can’t. I kissed one person, and it was rubbish because he wasn’t you. Am I making any sense right now?”

Harry’s unconsciously moved closer, raised his head and is leaning in towards Nick. The _lover_ tattoo on his ankle tickles, and he can’t think straight. “Yes.” He sighs, and he deflates with the exhalation. He rests his head on Nick’s shoulder, who immediately reaches out and wraps his arms around him. “I get it. I do. But I’d be an idiot to do this. To let you do this. I won’t do that to myself again.”

“I know I know I know,” Nick says softly. “I know, I don’t expect you to just accept me back with open arms. I just wanted to tell you that. I wanted to tell you that I loved you, that I’m still in love with you, and that I’d really like to take you for some ice cream again?”

It’s phrased as a question, an invitation that he’s free to reject. He’s free to say no. There’s nothing stopping him from saying no, and kicking Grimmy to the kerb and never speaking to him again. He has every reason to say no. Nick could do it all again, he could let his own head get in the way again, and Harry would be left alone again. And he wouldn’t survive it again. Not a second time. No, _Harry has every reason to say no._

But then again… It’s Nick. It’s Nick, the same Nick he’s spent months and months trying to forget about and the same Nick that has clawed his way back into the forefront of his mind over and over again. It’s the man who he’s spent the past two Christmas’ with, the man who danced with him on his 19th birthday and took him for himself on his 18th. It’s the Nick he’s spent the entirety of March, April, May, June, July and half of August convincing himself that he didn’t want, but the Nick that he never stopped actively desiring. It’s the Nick that he loves, loves so thoroughly and so passionately that he could kiss the scrapes on Nick’s knees and the wounds on his heart until his dying day.

“I’m an idiot,” Harry sighs again, and shifts his position slightly, nuzzling his nose into the crook of Nick’s neck.

“No you’re not,” Nick assures him. “Your mind is as gorgeous as your face is.”

Harry smiles, peeks up through his own curls and Nick’s already looking down at him. And for once, he can see and recognize the adoration gleaming in the older man’s eyes. “One ice cream cone. That’s all you get.”

The suns nearly down, just barely peeking out from behind the hills and wildlife surrounding his mum’s new house. The birds are gone, heading home to sleep and there’s nothing but the sounds of the night coming alive, and their synchronized breathing.

“That’s all I’m asking for.”


	4. tell me boy if every time we touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Harry isn't sad anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHGGHHGHHHH
> 
> I cannot believe that this is a thing that I have actually finished. It took MONTHS, but HEY. I DID IT. This is the hardest thing I have ever done, writing-wise (and probably reality-wise, I live a very sheltered and docile life), and it just feels like a HUGE weight off my shoulders. It's done. Finito. It has an epilogue, only about 5k, but I've had that done since forever.
> 
> Thank you to everyone and anyone who has read this. I'm not going to go on about it, but it means a lot to me. I love all of you.
> 
> P.S., it's probably worth mentioning that at this point, this is all AU. I didn't put much thought into the reality of what was happening, and some of the stuff I had written before things in real life (i.e., Zayn's engagement) happened. So it's half a jumble of me trying to connect the story to the real world, half me just shrugging. Regardless, I hope you like it. I'll be proofreading it while it's up (that's always easiest for me), so I warn you that there's probably lots of mistakes.
> 
> Big love to all of you. (๑✧◡✧๑)

**part 4 – partners**

Nick stays for dinner, at Anne’s insistence. They stayed outside in the dark, just sitting together and chatting quietly for ages, each too nervous to reach for the others hand. By the time Anne has called them inside, it’s still awkward and conversation is still forced in a way Harry can’t fathom dealing with for much longer. Anne’s not good at diffusing the tension, gets right into how Nick is to treat Harry in the future. It grinds on their nerves, Nick looking increasingly ashamed and distressed as the food goes until Harry finally assures her that they get the idea, and that he can decide for himself the terms and conditions of his relationships.

Nick shoots him a thankful smile across the table, and Harry returns it. He kicks his shin under the table, which turns into a full kicking war. At least this is easy. Touching. Being physical has always been easier than talking, for Harry at least.

By the time they’ve finished all the washing up, it’s late enough that Anne reluctantly extends an invitation for Nick to spend the night, which Nick tries his best to decline, but Anne refuses to let him out in the dark.

“Honestly, I’m 29 years old.” Nick grumbles, as they collect blankets from the linen closet. “I think I can handle being outside at night.”

Being in Nick’s presence physically hurts him, it stings and the atmosphere is awkward and stilted but Harry’s just so full of relief. It’s awful and incredible all in one, because he’s still angry with Nick but thank god he’s here. Thank god he’s back. Thank god he wants him. He wants to punch Nick in the face, but also to bury his face in Nick’s neck and cuddle up to him forever.

Harry smirks, piling the mountain of blankets he knows that Nick likes to sleep with over his arm, then closing the door with his hip. He turns to the man, suddenly unsure of how their sleeping arrangements are going to work. 

Nick looks up at him, and then shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “I can sleep in the guest room, if you’d like.”

“No,” Harry blurts, even though a big part of him is sure that he’d be more comfortable with Nick in a separate bedroom. “I don’t mind. I want you to—just come to my room.” 

Nick nods, then gestures for Harry to lead the way. He’s never been to Harry’s new room before.

When he opens his door, Nick walks in before him and surveys the room. Unbeknownst to the man, this room had been furnished partially with Nick in mind. Anne had moved in January, when Harry and Nick were still together. It had been on the horizon for a while, and that had been why she wouldn’t let Harry pay for renovations to their kitchen. 

And while she was shopping for furniture for Harry’s room, she had went ahead and bought a queen size bed instead of the twin he had before, with the thought in mind that Harry would probably be sharing it with Nick. She hadn’t seen The Breakup coming at all. When Harry first started spending time at her house after it had happened, that’s all he could think about. How that bed was made for two.

Nick nods his head approvingly, totally oblivious to Harry’s internal bed crisis. “Nice place, this. The One Direction poster is a strong look.” He nods to where Anne had hung up a big, awful poster of the boys from their What Makes You Beautiful era. Harry hates it, his hair looks weird and Niall had even protested against using this photo in the merch, but his mum liked it. And he supposed he didn’t abhor it. At night, the moon would light up his room just enough that he could see their smiling faces glinting back at him, and he could remember what it was like to be 17 and not exhausted even after just waking up in the morning.

“Shut up,” Harry shakes his head, snorting. He walks over to the bed, lays the pillow out beside his own, and then looks at the blankets he’s collected. It’d be a bit weird to give them two separate blankets. And he doesn’t know how big of a statement he wants to make against Nick; if he wants to say “you may sleep here but you are still in trouble so our legs will not touch under the blankets” or not. He’s also fairly certain that he wants their legs to touch under the blankets. He loves to cuddle. He’s missed cuddling.

It’s a very delicate line he’s walking on. He wants to let Nick in, but he doesn’t. He wants to accept that people make mistakes and that Nick made a big one, but he doesn’t want to get hurt again because of any future mistakes.

Nick sees Harry staring the sheets down, and he walks up beside him. He smiles at him, shaking his head and he reaches across Harry and grabs the pillows, then snatches the blankets from his hand. He tosses them all on the floor, right beside Harry’s side of the bed. “There,” he grins at Harry.

“No,” Harry protests, leaning down to pick the pillow back up. “You can’t sleep on the floor.”

Nick swats Harry’s hand away. “Yes, I can. And I am.” He looks at Harry curiously for a moment, then quickly darts forward to kiss him on the cheek, smiles, then moves to lay on the pillow, still fully clothed. He needs to fold his limbs, they’re so long and Harry wants to kiss every inch of his skin.

He holds the skin on his face that’s now flaming hot with a blush, and stares at Nick as he stubbornly tries to get comfortable on the carpet. He’s frowning, but it’s in constant danger of curling back up into a smile. “Get up, Nick.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Harry pokes at Nick’s back with his foot. “Get into bed with me.”

Nick squirms around on the floor. “No, I’m quite comfortable down here.”

Rolling his eyes, Harry sighs. “Fine.” He pulls his shirt up and over his head, then peels his jeans off. He keeps his pants on, and climbs a bit huffily back into the bed.

It’s still a bed built for two, for one then.

They’re quiet after that, as they listen to Anne shuffling around the house, turning off lights and then she herself retiring into her room down the hall. He forgot to close his curtains before getting in bed, and he’s comfortable enough now that he’s not about to get up and close them. Pale moonlight streams in, and he can see the outline of Nick’s body under blankets on the floor. From across the room, his 17 year old self grins down at him.

“Why won’t you just come to bed?” Harry’s as quiet as his voice will go.

Nick doesn’t reply for a moment. “Because I don’t want to push you too far.”

Harry snuffles, turns over on the bed, pounds at his pillow and still can’t get comfortable. He’s too hot under the blankets, too cold without them. He looks down at Nick, and the steady rising and falling of his ribs under the thin blankets he’s given him.

Harry shakes his head, sits up and throws the sheets off of himself. He grabs his pillow, then stands up and throws it on the floor. Nick turns over just in time to see Harry lay down beside him, face shrouded in darkness. There’s space in between them, but Harry reaches out and snatches Nick’s hand into his own. His grip is so tight.

“I’m tired of sleeping alone.” Harry breathes.

Nick nods, reverence in his expression. “I’m tired of sleeping without you.”

Harry smiles. They don’t kiss. He falls asleep with Nick’s eyes still on him. 

~~~

Harry wakes up the next morning suddenly, as if someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head. He jerks up, back stiff from sleeping on the floor, and he’s wiping the grit from his eyes and glaring around the room even before he has time to think about why he’s so panicky.

Nick’s sitting upright at his right, leaning against the bed but still close. He has both hands folded primly on his lap, acting too posh for a man wearing the rumpled remains of yesterdays clothes.

"Hullo," Harry croaks, the sound of morning in his voice. Now that he’s located Nick in the room, he’s slowed down. He feels less panicky, now that he knows for sure that Nick hadn’t left while he was sleeping. He lays back down, scratching at his bare chest idly. He had lost most of his clothing at some point in the night. 

"Good morning, sleepy." Nick smiles, fiddling with his fingers. “I’ve been up for ages. I’m literally starving."

"Literally starving?" Harry raises his eyebrows, because Nick’s just as much of a drama queen as ever. He doesn’t feel much like talking, but he pushes conversation out anyways, a compulsion."What time is it?"

"Nearly half 8. Like I said, I’ve been up for ages." Nick grins, then climbs unceremoniously to his feet. “Breakfast show’s ruined me for normal hours."

Harry groans, but figures he’s just uncomfortable enough to get up. “You’re making me eggs."

"Er, am I?"

"Yes." Harry says smartly, then extends his hands for Nick to help him up. “Apology eggs."

Nick’s sniggering at him as he takes his hand and hoists the younger man up. “Apology eggs, eh? On apology toast? With apology sausages?"

Harry nods grimly. “Yes. Apology breakfast. Is my mum up?" He stretches, nearly falling over as he momentarily loses his balance.

Nick shrugs. “I dunno. Not too excited to see her, to be honest."

"I’m sure she’s not too pleased to see you either."

They go down to the kitchen and dining area, where Anne’s sitting at the island with a cup of coffee clenched in her hand. Harry kisses her on the cheek while walking by, Nick smiling politely. The two of them rustle around near the appliances for a few minutes, until Nick’s got a pan of eggs and a pan of sausage crackling greasily. They chat quietly about innocuous things, things of very little importance, and Harry keeps catching Nick staring at him instead of making their breakfast.

Harry only has a few more days left until he has to go on the final stretch of the tour. Nick tells him that he’s more than welcome to come spend time with him, which Harry is hesitant to accept. He tells Nick that he’ll come visit, but won’t spend the night with him. And if Nick’s disappointed, he doesn’t show it.

Instead, Nick is full of boundless excitement. Harry agreeing to hang out with him seems to lift a filter on his mouth, until Nick’s just babbling nonsense as they finally sit down at the breakfast table. Anne watches with a smirk of amusement from behind a cuppa. Harry’s trying hard to be demure and unimpressed, but there’s something about Nick going on about his new carpets that makes Harry unable to not dissolve into a puddle of unwanted adoration. 

Robin arrives home halfway through lunch, having spent the previous few days away on a business trip. He walks through the doorway to the kitchen, already calling out greetings to Anne and expressing his exhaustion when he sees Nick and Harry sitting beside each other at the table.

He gapes, brows furrowed in confusion. Nick has the decency to look contrite.

"What— I—- When—-?" His head moves from Nick to Harry in a way that Harry would think was quite funny if he weren’t the focus of Robin’s bewilderment. He walks in Anne’s general direction, bangs his arm off of the counter, then turns to her for an explanation.

Anne kisses Robin on the cheek, a wry smile on her face. “Harry here’s decided to take Nick back."

"Oh," Robin nods, looking back at the boys at the table, then at Anne again. “Okay. Brilliant. Why’re they here, though?"

"Nick was a bit of a dickhead and ignored Harry on his birthday, then decided that he wanted him after all. He’s here because he couldn’t stand to be away from your step-son any longer."

"Mum," Harry protests, glancing at Nick, whose eyes are glued to the plate of eggs in front of him.

"Well, isn’t it true?" Anne asks, clearly rhetorical. “That’s exactly what happened." She’s bristling, and Harry realizes how angry she is with Nick for the first time since Nick showed up.

She was angry for his sake, but Harry was tired of people being angry for him. “Well you’re not allowed to call him a dickhead." Harry snaps, clenching his fists on top of the table. “Just because he is a dickhead, doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve the common courtesy of not being called a dickhead over toast."

"Harry…" Nick murmurs, face going a bit red. He reaches beside him, and takes Harry’s left hand in his. “You don’t have to…"

"No, Nick." Harry shakes his head. “I don’t like it when people say awful things about you. Even when I was my angriest at you, and the boys would talk shit, I’d always tell them to stop." He squeezes Nick’s fingers, warm and firm in his hand. He looks up at Anne. “You’re not allowed to be angry with Nick for me. Whatever he’s done to me, is between him and me."

Anne looks incredulous. “Harry, you’re my son and I listened to you when you were at your worst because of him. You can’t honestly expect me to just accept him back with open arms."

"No, but I expect you to respect my decision to take him back." He replies bluntly, challengingly. He looks quickly over to Nick, who is staring at him again, some unrecognizable emotion shining behind his eyes.

"I’m still partly furious with him," Harry continues, all the while looking back at Nick. He builds his courage up, then continues. “But I still love him, mum. I probably always will. It’s out of your hands."

Nick’s smile is blinding. He squeezes Harry’s fingers so tightly that he thinks they might fall off. His eyes do not move from Harry’s face for one second. His cheeks are still burning red, and he looks suspiciously teary eyed. “I love you." He says softly, quietly, shyly, like he’s not sure how the words are supposed to sound when he’s saying it in this way. He looks embarrassed, very aware of Anne and Robin watching them like hawks from deeper in the kitchen, but he ignores them.

Harry’s heart leaps out of his chest, but he beats it down because Nick can’t just say I love you and get off scot-free. But at the same time, if Harry reacts negatively, he might spook Nick into never saying it again. 

He grins quietly at him, squeezing his hand in return, then turns back to Anne. “You told me not to give up on loving with all my heart, so I haven’t. And as long as Nick’s willing to love me proper in return, why shouldn’t he get the chance?"

Anne frowns at them, biting her lip. She doesn’t seem to know what to say, eyes flickering between Nick and Harry with uncertainty. Robin wraps his arm around her shoulder, looking significantly less concerned than she, but with doubt clear on his own face.

"Well," she hedges carefully. “I suppose I did say that. And I can’t very well ban you from dating him, can I?"

"No you cannot," Harry says quickly, in case she changed her mind halfway through and decided that she can. 

"But I don’t want to hide that I’m not happy with this. But I’ll give him a chance."

"Thank you, Anne." Nick jumps in, “I won’t let Harry down again. I promise."

Anne smiles thinly. “I still think you’re a dickhead." Robin shakes her softly.

"So do I." Harry nods.

Nick’s less red now, always down with self-deprecation. “Most do."

~~~

After they’re done eating, Harry returns upstairs to get dressed and pack his things to return to London with Nick. Nick’s brought his own car, so they’re driving back separately, and Harry’s glad of that. The time it took to drive back to London would give him some time to think about things alone.

Nick stays downstairs, and when Harry comes back down with his bag slung over his shoulder, Anne and Nick are talking again with somber looks on their faces. Harry rolls his eyes, swoops in and kisses his mum on the cheek before dragging Nick out from her threats. He throws his own things in his car, then awkwardly waves to Nick as a goodbye. 

On the ride, Harry can’t stop thinking about if he’s making a mistake or not. Can’t stop thinking of the lads’ reaction when they find out. Wonders if he’s really doing this, if he’s really throwing himself into a relationship with Nick, and what that even entails. 

Nick texts him when they’ve both arrived back in London, asking if he wanted to grab a late lunch. Harry considers declining, just to show Nick that he could say no, but doesn’t. They meet at a sushi restaurant near Primrose, and they sit on opposite sides of the table and Nick doesn’t pull anything, or ask him to come back to his place after. He just smiles, like he’s genuinely glad just that Harry came. He walks Harry to his car, opens the drivers door, but doesn’t linger for a kiss. He shuts the door, and waves as Harry drives away.

It’s the worst thing Nick could possibly do, because it’s impossible for Harry to not be charmed and happy about it. Nick’s being so sweet, like he never was before, and it’s confusing and he wishes he could just call Nick and tell him that he changed his mind and he wants to never speak to him again. It’d certainly be easier. But he’s not about to give up just because it’d be easy; he’s used to fighting tooth and nail to get what he wants. 

He drives to Louis’ flat, figures he’ll have to tell someone at some point, but when he lets himself in with his key no one is home. He turns around, drives to Zayn’s because Zayn makes some shit romantic decisions but he’s good at telling other people what to do. He’s who he’d go to next, after Louis. Niall doesn’t really care what others do, and Liam’s too bossy and would probably just start talking about his dog.

Zayn, by some miracle, is home and available. Perrie’s there too, and they’re both sprawled about in a state of undress that Harry runs into a wall when he covers his eyes after he sees Perrie. 

When they’re both presentable and Zayn’s had a smoke, they sit Harry down on the sofa with raised eyebrows. 

“Erm,” Harry fiddles with his fingers to avoid eye contact. “Erm, basically, I needed someone to talk to. About, erm. My romantic life.”

Perrie looks at him with a speculative expression. “Your love life? Do you want me to set ya up with someone?”

Harry smiles, shaking his head definitively. Zayn laughs at her, crinkly eyes. “Harry doesn’t need any help meeting lads.”

“Or girls.” Harry adds in, momentarily forgetting the point of the conversation. “Why does everyone forget that I like girls, too?”

Zayn shrugs. “You’ve made your appreciation for lads quite obvious lately, that’s why. But that can’t be why you’re here. What’s up?”

“Oh, right.” Harry peers speculatively at his cuticles. “Erm, I think I took Nick back last night. Just thought you all ought to know. Do you think I can get a manicure, or am I not butch enough to pull off a masculine nail soak?”

“You what?”

“No, you’re right. Not butch enough.” Harry nods, then rises to his feet. “Right, well, see you later then.”

Zayn reaches out and grabs at Harry’s wrist tightly, pulling him back down to sit. “Oh no, no no. I don’t think so. You took Nick back? Are you serious?”

“Nick who?” Perrie asks curiously, looking back and forth between Harry and Zayn.

“Grimshaw.” Zayn replies quickly, still staring Harry down.

“Oh, Grimmy!” Perrie cheers. “I love Grimmy! He’s so funny.”

“Yeah, well. Remember how I told you Harry’s been acting soppy for months? It’s ‘cos Grimshaw told Harry he only wanted him for sex and broke his heart. And he’s been acting like a twat for months.”

“Because of Grimmy?” Perrie sounds incredulous. “Didn’t he nearly throw himself off a balcony?”

“It didn’t happen quite like that,” Harry protests, feeling awkward and awful. Zayn was still staring at him like he was an idiot, and he was starting to regret being so upfront about it.

“He was smashed.” Zayn admits, leaning back on the couch. He pulls out a box of cigarettes and went to take one out, but put them back in his pocket at a critical look from Perrie. “Well, what happened then?”

Harry tells them, tells them about how they’d been talking recently and how it was Nick’s birthday and he’d been ignored. He tells them how he’d retreated to Holmes Chapel and how Nick showed up without warning and told him he was in love with him. About how Nick was sorry, and how he just wanted Harry back, and about how sweet he was being and how confused it made him.

Perrie looks increasingly enchanted as the story went on, Zayn with a calculating look that said he was listening very closely. When Harry was finished, they exchange looks, and Zayn nods once at her.

She reaches across the couch and pats Harry’s knee gently. “That sounds like a very lovely story, Harry,” she coos. “But how do you know he’s being like, genuine?”

“I know Nick.” Harry replies, staring earnestly at the two of them. “Nick’s a bastard, but he’d never do this to me if he wasn’t absolutely sure.”

Zayn nods. “Okay. What do you want from us, then? I’m sure you knew that we were gonna tell you it’s a shit idea. ‘Cos it is.”

Harry’s face falls. “I don’t know what I expected,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wanted to know if you think I’m an idiot.”

Zayn laughs. “Of course I think you’re an idiot. You’re taking back the guy who broke your heart because he finally came to his senses and realized how great you are, even though you’ve only barely gotten over him." Zayn hesitates, turning to Perrie for a moment, then back at Harry. “Of course I think you’re an idiot. But I don’t think you’re wrong to have done it."

"What?" Harry looks up, surprise etched on his face. 

"Harry, it’s not my place to tell you who you can and can’t date." Zayn says slowly, measuring his words. “And while I’m not too pleased with Nick for being a twat in the first place, it’s always been fairly obvious he cares a lot for you. He makes you happy. And I think as long as you can find a balance between being in love with each other and being obsessed with each other, you’ll be fine."

Perrie nods from her place at Zayn’s side. “And fuck what everyone else says, honestly." She pats at Harry’s knee again. “You shouldn’t care what anyone thinks about your relationship, except the people who are in it. Not even the rest of your band." She tweaks Zayn’s cheek playfully, who smiles and kisses her fingers.

"That’s important," Zayn adds. “The lads’ll be pissed. But, fuck ‘em. Just make sure you don’t screw it up again."

Harry grins widely at them. “Zayn Malik and Perrie Edwards: relationship gurus. Thanks guys. You’re real pals."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, just get out now. I don’t need to see your ugly mug for a couple more days." Zayn grunts, rising to his feet, already tugging at Perrie.

Harry stands with the couple, still smiling at them. “No, really. Thanks."

Perrie returns the smile as the three of them head towards the door. “No problem. Send our love to Grimmy. Ask him if Little Mix can come back on the show again soon."

"Of course." Harry kisses her on the cheek, then turns to Zayn who wraps him up in a warm embrace. Zayn kisses his cheek, then pats his butt as he heads out the door.

~~~ 

It’s weird being with Nick again. Not the actual physical spending time together; after they bypass the initial reluctance, he’s confident that spending time with Nick will feel like it always has. Which is absolutely effortless. No, it’s the idea that he’s spending time with Nick again, the idea that Nick wants to spend time with him and that Nick is telling him that he wants to be with him.

He doesn’t really know what to do with that knowledge. Nick wants to be with him, excellent. But what does it really mean? What does it entail? 

He makes sure to ask this time around, the lack of communication is probably what ruined them last time. The fact that Harry thought things were going so well, and that they were progressing to the next level without stopping to ask if Nick was in the same headspace was probably foolish. But what’s done is done. He learns from his mistakes.

He calls Louis the day after he talks to Zayn and asks him if he wants to do something. Louis doesn’t want to; wants to spend as much time as he can without One Direction before they’re together again, but Harry insists. They meet up at Harry’s, and Harry spends a half hour before Louis’ due to arrive (a full hour before Louis actually arrives) puttering about nervously. He’s 100% sure that Louis is going to take this worse than anyone else. Louis has a tendency to yell about things first, then later sit down and think it through. 

Louis knocks on the door, late as usual, and Harry ushers him inside before any stray paparazzi spot him. He brews some Yorkshire tea, making sure to make it exactly how he knows Louis likes it, hoping to soften him up first.

It doesn’t work very well; by the time Harry’s sat down with Louis at his dining room table with their respective cups of tea, Louis’ eyeing him suspiciously, tapping on his phone in a show of mock disinterest. 

Harry clears his throat, holding the mug in his hands, nervously staring at his best friend. Louis sets his phone down, takes a swig of the tea, pretends to not like it, then looks Harry directly in the eye. “Alright, what’s got your curly little head in a knot?"

Harry fiddles with the handle, finding it harder than usual to look Louis in the eye. “I have news."

"News?" Louis asks, taking another sip. He still looks a bit concerned, but he really has no idea what Harry’s talking about. “News about what? Knock someone up?"

"No!" Harry giggles nervously, a bit too loud than he usually would. “I… I’m erm. Nick came and visited me in Holmes Chapel.

Louis goes still. “What?"

Harry furiously stares down at the table. “Nick came to see me… And he asked for me back, sort of."

"And what did you say?" Louis sounds icy, dangerous.

Harry looks up, eyes wide. “I sort of… said yes?"

Louis stares at him for a minute, then takes a deep breath. He sits back in his chair, and pinches the bridge of his nose with the hand not holding the mug. The tea hand, coincidentally, appears to be shaking a little bit. Harry braces himself; it wouldn’t be the first time that Louis’ gotten angry and chucked kitchen equipment. 

"Why would you do that, Harry? Why?" Louis says finally, voice low and sounding incredibly close to exploding. “What makes you think that this could possibly be a good idea?"

Harry shuffles in his seat. “Zayn says—-"

"I don’t bloody care what Zayn says!" Louis shrieks, but dropping his hand from his face and looking up at Harry with an incredulous look on his face. “Zayn wasn’t the one who opened their front door to find you sobbing on his doorstep, was he?"

"Louis—"

"No, Harry, listen." Louis takes a couple of breaths, in a visible effort to calm himself down for Harry’s sake. “I don’t know if you’ve temporarily lost your mind, or your fucking memory, but do you remember the past few months? You were absolutely insane. We all thought you were going to drink yourself into oblivion, not to mention all of the other shit we were afraid you’d start doing."

Harry feels his eyes prickling painfully. “Lou, no—-"

"Harry please." Louis holds a hand up, and Harry bites his lip. “It was so hard waking up every day and finding that you were still that hurt, that someone before our eyes had taken all that was happy and bright about you and torn it to shreds. We didn’t stop him, because we figured you’d be fine on your own. That you could make your own decisions, and that you’d deal with your own consequences when they came. But that clearly didn’t work out, did it? I can’t remember the number of times that we had to turn you on your side at night so you didn’t suffocate on your own vomit, or save you from actually killing yourself. You were suicidal, Harry. You really think that I’m going to sit back and watch you go right back into this?" 

"I wasn’t suicidal," Harry protests, the words sounding weak and meagre even to him. “And that’s not going to happen again. I’m going to make sure that it doesn’t happen again."

Louis stares at him doubtfully. “And how are you going to do that? You can’t change people, Harry."

"I know that," Harry says, “don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You’re 3 years older than I am."

"And Nick’s 9 years older than you. It’s inappropriate."

"It’s inappropriate, because he’s older than me? I’ve always liked people older than me. You should remember that quite well."

Louis winces. “Is that what this is about? Me not liking you all those years ago? I thought you’d gotten over that."

"No, it’s not fucking about that Louis." Harry throws his hands up in the air. “It’s about the fact that I love Nick, no matter what he’s done to me."

Louis takes a few more breaths, then continues, more softly. “Harry. Just because you love someone even when they treat you like shit, doesn’t mean you should let them treat you like shit."

"I know." Harry takes a breath too, having worked himself up. There’s something about Louis talking condescendingly to him that always makes him angry. “And I’m not going to let him to again. I did before, I know that now. I did let him take me for granted, and I did let him take advantage of me. But that’s not entirely and irrevocably his fault, you understand that, right? Sure, it’s wrong of him to have taken what he could, but you of all people should understand that some people will take what they can."

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Louis furrows his brows, holding his head up aggressively.

Harry just shakes his head. “I’m not blaming you for anything. It’s a personality thing. I wish people understood that. You and Nick are similar in that you’ll work with whatever people give you. You drain people. But that’s not necessarily bad. It’s just how you are."

Louis considers this, eyes flickering between Harry’s face and somewhere behind his head. “Some people take… and some people give."

"Yes," Harry sighs excitedly. “It’s how it works. Yin and yang, and all that. It’s in Nick’s nature to take, but it’s in my nature to give. I can’t change that about me any more than Nick can change that about him. It’s how we are. We complement each other."

Louis looks confused. “But relationships have to be equal. You can’t be the one giving all the time, it’s unfair." It sounds regurgitated. 

"That’s true." Harry nods, agreeing easily. “But I don’t need as much, and I don’t need the same things that he needs, does that make sense at all? I’ll take what I need from him, and he from me. It might seem unequal, or unfair, but it’s exactly what each of us need."

Harry sits back in his chair, tapping his foot against the leg of the table and taking a small sip of his tea. He had let it sit for a bit too long, it was now a bit colder than he liked it. “Also, you’ve got to remember that not all relationships are the same." He nods smartly. “There’s no set guidelines or rules. You just make shit up as you go."

Louis takes a drink of his own tea, and Harry felt pleased that he had successfully avoided a proper Tomlinson explosion. “Very wise, Harold." Louis nods, seeming rather impressed. “But I’m still not really onboard this whole Nick thing. I still think you’re too good for him. And that you’re going to end up hurt again."

Harry shakes his head. “Well, I’m not 100% for it yet, either. I don’t know if it’ll work, and I might get hurt again, sure. But he’s willing to try, and so am I. And no amount of your unwillingness is going to stop us."

Louis quirks a smile. “I thought you might say something like that." He takes another drink, seemingly deep in thought. After a moment where they just sit in silence, Louis heaves a sigh. “Alright. I’ll be nice to your boyfriend, if that’s what you’re asking me."

"I’m not asking you anything," Harry adds in, but Louis continues as if he hadn’t heard anything.

"If he can prove himself to be good for you, fantastic. I’ll be happy for you. And if he turns out to just be a dickhead, that sucks but I won’t tell you I told you so. I’ll be there for you. Again."

Harry smiles. “Thank you. Really, Lou. You’re a swell guy." He stands up, arms outstretched towards the older man expectantly.

Louis peers up at him for a minute, but then chuckles as he rises up to join him. He slips into Harry’s arms, resting his chin on Harry’s shoulder. He slaps Harry on the back gruffly, but his macho persona is ruined a bit when Harry hoists him up in the air, squeezing his waist tightly and spins him back and forth a bit. Louis fights fiercely, shoving at Harry’s jaw with a grin on his face and laughter bubbling from his mouth.

Louis ends up victorious, as he nearly always does, a smug expression as he pretends to kick Harry’s prone body as he stands above him.

"Tell your boyfriend the same will happen to him if he messes with you." Louis shakes his finger threateningly at Harry, just barely managing to keep a straight face before swooping down and kissing Harry on his dopey forehead.

"Yes sir," Harry mumbles, winded from the struggle and from laughing. He watches Louis turn away and march proudly out of the room, and then out the front door. "Yes sir."

After Louis leaves, Harry’s left laying on the floor with nothing to do with himself. He’s sure that Nick’s at his flat, waiting for Harry to call because he’s mostly left him alone since taking him out the day before.

Harry’s not sure if the solitude is what he wants or not. The night before, it had been a relief; he had the chance to cherish his time alone, to appreciate sleeping alone perhaps for one last time. He had been exhausted, emotionally and physically, and had been able to fall straight into a dreamless sleep.

But now… he had said his goodbyes to his bedsheets. He had talked himself into a tiff to Louis, where he’s left feeling defensive and determined to prove how he and Nick fit in together. He wants to see him, wants to run his fingers down his body, feel the delicate bones of his face, his cheekbones and his crooked nose. He feels a bit like throwing up when he picks up his phone and goes through his messages to find none from Nick. He’s so nervous, and he can’t quite pinpoint the reason why. Is he nervous about Nick calling and expecting too much from him? Of expecting too little? Of him not calling at all? Or is he just nervous with the whole concept of Nick being in his life at all, of breaking his heart again?

That might be it. Harry talked big, bold statements of forgiveness, of mutual respect and trust, but Harry was still so afraid. Nick broke his heart, and some self-righteous part of him was vehemently refusing to accept Nick back. It was like he was split in two: the part that hated Nick, and the part that quietly reminded him that no, he did not.

He barely understood it himself. He couldn’t begin to grasp his feelings about the situation. All he really knew was that he still thoroughly wanted Nick in his life, as his boyfriend. And it didn’t matter how much his mother, nor his best friends, nor anyone else thought he was being foolish, or that he lacked self-respect. 

That was his choice. He had the power to say no if he so pleased. And he was making a choice. If Nick broke his heart again… so what? It would be Nick’s issue, and it would have been Harry’s own responsibility. But at least he had made the choice. He couldn’t just close himself off to being in love because he had been hurt before. 

Maybe he was being an idiot. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. But then again, maybe it was.

His phone starts ringing. Harry checks the caller ID, and grins. “I was just thinking about you."

He could hear the smile in Nick’s voice. “Were you? Good things, or are you cursing the day you first laid eyes on me?"

"Bit of both, really." Harry adjusts his grip on the phone, and he sits up so he’s cross-legged in the middle of his living room. “I just told Louis. He did not take it well."

Nick coughs a laugh. “Well, what’d you expect from Tomlinson?"

"Hey, be nice." Harry scolds him, wiggling his toes in front of him. 

"Of course," Nick replies smoothly, charming as ever. “Do you regret it, then? This is your opportunity to back out."

Harry considers this. “Um, no. I don’t think I want to back out yet, thanks." He picks at his toe; there’s dirt underneath his toenail. “You’re not going to be like this the whole time, yeah? I already have enough other people second guessing this. You’re supposed to be encouraging me."

"Oh, okay." Harry wonders what Nick is doing. Wonders if he’s just laying in bed, or if he’s making himself a snack, or doing something important and radio-like. It strikes him suddenly that beyond the actual talking on the radio bit, Harry really has no idea what Nick does at his job. He wants to change that. He wants to know everything that Nick does. He wants to know what he thinks about when he wakes up, and what his hopes and aspirations are. He wants to line up his and Nick’s dreams, and see where they overlap. 

"—-Harry? You still there?"

"Hm?" Harry snaps back to the present, finding himself staring dreamily at the opposite wall with his phone balanced precariously on his shoulder against his ear.

"I was fighting for your affection," Nick says, and Harry can feel the sarcasm. “And you weren’t even listening. I’m gutted."

"I was listening!" Harry protests, for the sake of arguing because they both know that he wasn’t. “I was just processing it. Listening hard."

Nick scoffs. “You’re full of shit. I’m hanging up."

"Nick," Harry whines, drawing out the ‘i’ for as long as he could. “Noooo. Talk to me."

"What would you like to talk about?" Nick’s the one full of shit, because he’s clearly not about to hang up. 

Harry raises himself to his feet, and slowly makes his way up the stairs of his flat. “Wait. Put it on video." Harry pauses in the middle of the staircase, squinting down at his phone screen in slight confusion. He hangs up, but then quickly presses the FaceTime button. Nick answers immediately, but it takes a few moments to fully connect.

When it finally works, Harry grins down at the screen. “Hi."

The video is sort of fuzzy, but Harry can make out Nick’s face enough to know that the man is smiling back at him. The room he’s in is dark, and Harry fully realizes how late it had gotten since Louis had been over. “Hi. You look mobile."

"I am," Harry says proudly, and continues toddling upstairs. “I am going to brush my teeth."

"Fascinating. Tell me more."

"Fuck off," Harry enters his bathroom, flicks the light on then sets the phone down on the stupidly large counter. Harry had always thought that everything in his flat was unnecessarily large. Not that there was anything wrong with that, in theory. He just liked things a bit more cozy. “Tell me about your day."

"Erm," Nick wipes his eyes. He’s in bed; Harry can see Nick’s headboard in the background. He smiles a little at the fact that he recognizes Nick’s headboard. “I went back to work today. Finchy was not at all impressed that I took Monday off to rush off to Cheshire to beg for you back. He seems to think that I have a job to do, or somewhat."

"You could just have Showbot introducing all the songs," Harry suggests, squeezing the perfect amount of toothpaste on his brush. “I think it might even be better."

"Thanks, love. ‘Ppreciate the vote of confidence. I can be replaced by a talking robot that often goes into heat live on radio."

"Showbot would probably play less One Direction." He picks his phone back up, and glares at the phone. “Hm, that won’t do. Guess we’ll have to put up with you, pumping out our records." 

Nick sighs exasperatedly. “I don’t play One Direction that much!" 

"You don’t?" Harry tries to sound hurt, but it’s hard to when he’s mid-brush. “Why not?"

"I mean, I. Shut up Harry." Nick burrows deeper into his mess of comforters even though it’s August. Nick always keeps it at sub-freezing temperatures year round. Harry hates it. “I hear sirens."

Harry stops brushing for a moment to listen. “I hear sirens too. It sounds like there’s a bloody police chase. Is it coming from my end, or yours?"

"Harry. You live like around the corner from me." Nick shakes his head, but he’s laughing. 

"Oh." Something about Nick dismissing him has Harry feeling suddenly uncomfortable, feels awkward and he has no idea why so he wants to cry. He keeps getting choked up over the stupidest things, and he just wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and try it all again tomorrow.

"Harry? You okay?" 

"Yeah." Harry spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth. He’s pretty sure that his good mood goes right down the drain with his spit. “Yeah, I’m okay. Listen, I’m beat. I’m gonna head to bed, okay?"

Nick’s frowning at the screen. “Yeah, of course. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?"

Harry nods, not even verbally replying before hanging up the phone. He stares at the screen for a moment, swearing under his breath. He must seem like a nervous puppy, that Nick needs to be careful not to spook. And he doesn’t want to seem like a puppy. He wants to seem like a lion; like someone that Nick doesn’t have to look after, someone that Nick can not overlook or take advantage of.

He plugs his phone in the charger beside his bed, and jumps underneath his covers, grumpy and dissatisfied because of Nick Grimshaw, and not for the first time.

~~~

Nick picks Harry up for brunch the next morning, after he gets off of work. It’s nearly 11:30 and Harry already ate breakfast, but he still orders a bagel with honey just to be polite.

Nick’s got terrible bags under his eyes and he scarfs down his eggs like he hasn’t eaten for weeks. Harry nibbles at his bagel and watches Nick eat quietly, no real idea of what to say. Especially since he embarrassed himself like that last night with his sudden departure. He might as well have hung up on him.

The combination is deadly, one part impolite eating habits, one part unwillingness to speak adds up to any conversation they have to be awkward and terribly dry. They both keep trying to make jokes, to muster up that connection they had since the moment they met in 2011, but the jokes fall flat and the connection has been lost somewhere along the way.

They force themselves through the notions; Nick pays and invites Harry back to his flat for tea and some satellite. Harry rather reluctantly accepts, despite the fact he can think of a thousand different things he’d like to do other than keep this date going.

Nick switches the radio on the moment the car is on, and they listen to some shit that Sara Cox has got on instead of talking. Harry keeps glancing to his right, taking in the stoic look on Nick’s face, and the tense clench of his jaw, and it makes him feel like crying. He didn’t think that they were this broken.

When they get to Nick’s, rescue from the awkwardness comes in the form of Puppy. Harry’s never met Puppy; was only really sure that Nick had a dog from the photos he’d see on Nick’s Instagram. Puppy is even more adorable in person, and she is affectionate to an impossible degree. Harry thinks that he might have gotten annoyed with how jumpy and yappy Puppy was, if he wasn’t already used to his bandmates jumping and slobbering all over him.

And Harry’s still a cat person, but he thinks he falls quite in love with Puppy that day. He sits cross legged on the floor, with Nick across from him and Puppy in between. She seems thrilled that her master and this curly stranger were giving her so much attention, and Harry is charmed by her so completely that he forgets to be angry or upset or awkward with Nick. And the man just watches him play with the puppy, an endlessly affectionate look in his eyes, and they forget their rocky past, and their horrid morning. That afternoon, it’s just nice.

~~~

He had thought that if he got back together with Nick, it’d be easy. That’s what he stayed up all night thinking about months earlier when he was particularly mopey over the breakup. He dreamt about going back home, and finding Nick waiting for him with confessions of love, and begging for forgiveness. Every time he thought about it, he came up with a different scenario. Sometimes, he would tell Nick that it was too late, that he had already moved on. Nick would cry in these situations, but Harry would move on with his pride. Other times, he would take him back; put aside their differences and the past, and they’d fall into each other’s arms and it would be perfect.

But now that they had reunited, Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. He alternated between being satisfied with his decision, and wanting to throw himself into the Thames because how could he be so bloody stupid?

And Nick wasn’t helping. Nick seemed reluctant to touch Harry; like he was afraid of Harry pulling away from his advances (which he very well might have. But he didn’t have the opportunity to find out, did he?).

The first kiss Harry gets from Nick is at Liam’s 20th birthday party. He’s having some dumb party at Funky Buddah again, and Harry and Nick attend under extreme duress. At Liam’s 19th, Harry and Nick had taken off to another party after probably 25 minutes of arriving, but this time, they don’t leave all night. Both of them seemed reluctant to tell the other that they weren’t having fun, and both of them didn’t want to suggest that they leave.

Harry gets a bit drunk, but Nick nursed at a single beer all night, as if he was trying his best to avoid ordering tequila shots and downing them all himself. Harry could feel Nick’s boredom, and it still made him panic a bit, like he was afraid that Nick would leave him again because he was making him spend time at a dumb club. His abandonment issues were being triggered by the alcohol he had already consumed, and the only logical solution was to drink more.

Eventually, Harry is leaning back on the bar because he’s unsteady and his wobbly knees can’t support himself. His elbow is touching Nick’s, and that’s the only contact that they’re both allowing. Harry drunkenly tells himself that it’s only because there’s so many people around, and he can’t get any closer to him. But every time he turns his head to look at Nick, Nick’s looking away from him with a look that says he’s utterly uninterested in being there.

"Fucks sake." Harry murmurs, and he leans over to Nick. Nick looks at him at the last second before Harry’s kissing him, and he seems shocked. He barely reacts, even kisses back for a moment after the impact. But just as Harry starts moving in closer, Nick pulls back.

"Harry," he says firmly, the apples of his cheeks a bit flushed. It’s a very pretty blush. “Not here."

"Oh." Harry feels the rejection slower than he probably usually would, but when it hits its all he can feel. His eyes prickle, but he clenches his teeth and doesn’t allow himself to look too upset.

Nick just looks at him sadly, calculatingly. “Sorry."

~~~

Nick gathers Harry up later, who had retreated into the safety of Liam’s drunken group of friends. He had seen Louis there earlier, but he had snuck off before Harry could find him. He was running away from Nick, flushed and embarrassed from being rejected. He hates all the people there; he doesn’t know anyone but Liam and Andy and Liam was wrapped up with Sophia and he’d rather drown himself at the bar than talk to Andy.

Nick sidles up beside him, hand brushing the small of Harry’s back. “C’mon, popstar. We don’t have to stay here.”

Slightly drunkenly, Harry pulls away from Nick. He tilts his head up, exposing his throat challengingly. “Maybe I want to stay here.”

Nick’s face is half hidden in dark, but Harry can see that he’s not smiling. “Do you want to stay here?” He asks, level-headedly. He sounds slightly patronizing, and it makes Harry want to hide his face in his hands.

It also makes him truthful. “No,” he admits. Nick’s smile is tight, but he pulls Harry in closer to himself nonetheless.

“I’ve got a text from Aimee,” he muses, just loud enough for Harry to hear over the music. “She reckons she saw Elton John at a club in Camden.”

“In Camden?” Harry asks, allowing himself to melt into Nick’s side. “I doubt that. Let’s go.”

~~~

Four drinks in at a private club in Camden, and Harry wasn’t having any trouble closing the distance between him and Nick.

There was a Lana Del Rey song playing, a terrible bass heavy remix that made his heart pump louder than he remembered it ever being. He could feel Nick pressing in behind him, could feel his heat above the heat of everyone else in the club. Nick leaned in closer, lips brushing against his ear and hissed along with Lana when she sang " _I heard that you like the bad girls, honey, is that true?”_ Harry turned his head just to see Nick smirking at ‘ _girls_ ’, a secret smile that said he knew exactly what Harry liked.

Nick melted away into the crowd, thoroughly and suddenly. Harry pushed through the dancers around him, in the direction he’s sure that the man had gone. He could just barely see Nick through the solid mass of people, tall hair peeking above the heads over those around him.

One person moved away to go and get a drink at the bar. The person beside her slapped her boyfriend and walked away. Through the gap left by them both, Harry could see Nick. Nick was turned around in the crowd, looking back at him with a smug look on his face, confident that Harry was following after him.

If the world was built for two like Lana says, he’s sure that it was built for them. And it’s not just the tequila talking.

He reached out, trying to move people out of his path to reach his boyfriend and he almost reached his destination when someone appeared suddenly in front of him.

“Duke?” He asks, barely recognizing the figure before him.

Duke smiles up at him, sweat beading near the fringe of his hair. He can see Nick peering over at them. “Hi Harry. How’ve you been?”

“Er.” Harry pushes his hair back with his right hand, even though none of it has fallen out of place. “I’ve been—- I’m good. You?”

“Good, listen.” Duke, never one for beating around the bush, crowds in closer to him, tucking his tiny body in under his shoulder. “I’ve been hoping to run into you for awhile. I was a bit unreasonable before. You’re busy, I get it. I don’t think we should stop having sex just because you’re busy. You’re amazing.”

“I—”

“Who’s this?” Nick drawls, Harry not even noticing him approach in his state of slight bewilderment from being approached by his ex-lover.

“Duke,” the boy in question snaps, scanning Nick imperviously. “You’re Nick Grimshaw. The old DJ.”

Nick’s eyebrows raise, and he scoffs. “Cute that you know who I am. I’ve never heard of you.”

“Doesn’t really matter that you haven’t, does it?” Duke smiles faux-sweetly at Nick, then turns back to Harry. “What do you think, Hazza?”

Something prickles uncomfortably inside Harry’s stomach, and he really doesn’t want Duke to be here at that moment. The worst part is that since it’s been awhile since he’s been truly touched, he feels his body unconsciously reacting to Duke’s words even though he has no desire to follow through. He’s just about to politely tell the lad that he’s no longer interested when he feels an hand grip his arm tightly. He turns to see Nick pulling him away sharply from Duke’s touch, possessiveness crackling like electricity in his eyes. The tight grip hurts him, feels like he’s bruising under his fingertips.

“He’s not interested,” Nick snarls, tugging Harry away and out of the club. Harry stumbles along with him, confusion fogging his judgement but quickly turning into anger.

When they’ve reached the street, miraculously empty except for a passerby or two, Harry tears his arm out from under Nick’s hand. “What the fuck was that?” Harry demands, rounding on Nick immediately.

“What do you think it was?” Nick replies icily, not making eye contact as he throws his hands up to signal a cab. “You weren’t going home with him.”

“No, I wasn’t.” A cab has already materialized in front of him, and he hesitates before climbing in after Nick’s retreating form. “But you didn’t have the right to decide that for me.”

Nick reclines back on the leather seat. He gives the cabbie his own address, assuming Harry was coming over, then shrugs. “Sorry, I got ahead of myself. Thought you looked like you needed a bit of a rescuing.”

Nick’s nonchalant tone is really pissing him off. He glances at the cab driver, then leans over to whisper in Nick’s ear. “You don’t get to decide if I want rescuing.”

Nick grimaces, makes a non-committal gesture, then turns to look out the window. Harry rolls his eyes, then looks out his own window. After a few minutes, the scenery starts to look more and more familiar, before he recognizes that they’re going past his own little street. “Actually,” he speaks louder, addressing the driver. “I’ll just get out here. Thanks for a nice night out, Nick.” He opens the door as soon as the cab has come to a halt, and climbs out.

“Harry—- fuck.” Harry stalks down the street, a light drizzle making him shiver on his way. He hears Nick climb out as well, hears him pay the driver, then start clamoring after him. “Wait!” Harry clenches his jaw, ignores the man chasing him and continues on his way.

He’s made it quite close to his house before Nick finally catches up. “Harry, stop.”

Harry pointedly ignores him, having finally reached his front gate. He wrenches it open, hesitates, but then leaves it open for Nick to follow after him. Nick shuts it properly behind him, careful to lock it. Instead of heading inside, Harry walks around to the back garden because he’s a bit drunk and the fresh air and rain feels nice on his hot skin. The garden light flickers on when he moves past it, lighting up the entirety of the large lot. He’s sure the neighbors probably hate him already, what else could he do.

Nick follows, shuffling his feet like a 7 year old who’s just been caught doing something naughty. Harry stares up at the sky, but takes Nick’s hand in his when he finds that he’s right beside him.

“I’m sorry,” Nick says quietly. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You shouldn’t have.” Harry agrees, but doesn’t say anything else. He can feel the alcohol bubbling in his stomach, making his head buzz and his fists clench. He’s not drunk anymore; he’s in that achy part in between being drunk, and being asleep.

Nick sighs. “I was being stupid. There was something about seeing you with him that just made me become an idiot. Can we just forget that happened? It’s one of those things that we’ll look back at one day and laugh, probably.”

“You don’t trust me.” Harry sniffles. “You didn’t trust me not to just suddenly drop you and sleep with him. How am I supposed to forget about that?”

Nick’s quiet for another moment, staring up at the sky with him even though it’s cloudy and rainy and there’s no stars in the sky. Nothing to see. “That’s not it, I don’t think. I don’t think you’d go with him. I just didn’t want him to have the chance to offer. That’s not for him to do.”

Harry’s horrified to feel tears forming in his eyes. Not now. “Who’s to do it, then? Not you, surely. You barely even kissed me since getting back to London.”

“I wanted it to be special, or something.” Nick kicks at the turf, frowning. “I wanted to give you that big romantic moment. You deserve nice moments.”

“I’ve had big moments.” Harry voice sounds wobbly, and he hates that he’s so easy for this. Hates that tears are second nature. He wants to be stronger. “I just want you. If you can’t do that, what’s the point, even?”

Nick clenches Harry’s hand in his, turning to him with a devastated look on his face. “No. Don’t say that. This is going to work.”

“Why should we bother? If you don’t even know what I want, if you can’t figure out anything about me?” He sniffs, wiping at his eyes with his other hand.

Nick’s jaw is tight, veins popping out slightly in his forehead. His quiff is drooping down from the rain. “No. This is—- This is just a setback. You don’t mean it.”

“There isn’t anything cute or romantic about this,” Harry sobs, choking on his own saliva. “This isn’t something that you can go into thinking about how we’ll look back at this and laugh. This is so real, the realest thing I’ve ever felt. I’m so fucking mad at you all the time, but I can’t stop thinking about how much I still want you entirely. You broke my fucking heart, and you keep breaking my fucking heart with everything you do, and everything you don’t say.” 

“Harry,” Nick looks distressingly close to tears himself, but good! Good that he’s finally feeling it too! Good he’s finally showing that this isn’t just affecting Harry. “I’m trying so hard. I don’t know how to do this, to do any of this. But I’m trying so hard every day, every moment and every second. I don’t know how to make up for what I did to you, and I don’t know if I ever can.” Nick reaches out, holds Harry’s face against his, forehead to forehead and closes his eyes. He’s crying too. “But I want to. I want so much to be able to look at you and not think about how hurt you are. I love you so much, do you know that? I don’t fucking know what to do with that. I love you so much I’m just bumbling around uselessly without any notion of what to do with all this.”

Harry sobs more, and it feels like something in his chest is being ripped to shreds. “I love you too,” he whimpers. “I love you Nick. I don’t want to give up on us.”

“Tell me what you need,” Nick nods, lips grazing over Harry’s. “Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything. I just need you to not give up. Please don’t give up on me. I need you. I love you. I need you so much.”

Harry can barely speak, can barely think but he’s thought about this so many times that he knows before the words have even left Nick’s lips. “I need to be able to love you fully,” he wraps his arms around Nick’s neck, pulling their bodies flush against each other. They look silly, sobbing into each other’s faces, clinging onto each other so desperately. “I need to know you love me fully. I need everyone to know you love me fully.”

Nick nods, nods frantically, and he laughs a bit maniacally. “That’s okay, that’s more than okay. I’ll scream it off of rooftops, I’ll buy billboards and hand out flyers and I’ll get a plane to write it in the clouds. Do you know how close I’ve come to doing that already? I want to every day. I thought you didn’t.”

“No!” Harry gasps. “I want everyone to know.”

The rain hasn’t let up a bit, and they’re both shivering and soaking. Nick looks at him through wet eyelashes, trembling lips. “Okay.” He mutters. “Okay. We can do that. Just let me first—-” Without a breath of hesitation, Nick pulls Harry’s lips to his own, one hand on the back of his head, one stroking lower and lower down his back. The kiss feels so sweet, so refreshing, so invigorating and so vital. He needs this, just as much as Nick needs it, and he can taste the hot desire on Nick’s cold lips. His body is reacting automatically, faster than he can even realize what’s happening. He digs his fingers into Nick’s skull, running through his hair and yanking and squeezing the curls. 

Nick pulls away for a single second, gasping for air then returns to his lips, sucking and the sound of them kissing is loud in the air. Harry groans, opening his mouth and sucking on Nick’s tongue when it slips in. He slowly starts walking backwards, in the direction of his back door. He gets pushed up against the door, the handle digging into his back before he fumbles clumsily with the keys in his pocket to unlock it. 

When he finally gets it open, he throws both doors open, and breaks away from the kiss to drag Nick inside. Their pupils are both fully dilated, erections uncomfortable in their tight jeans. He throws his keys onto the counter behind him as Nick closes the doors. It’s dark in Harry’s sitting room, because neither of them can be bothered to seek out a light switch before they’re back on each other. They’re guided by the light still on outside, streaming through the windows.

Harry pushes Nick’s jacket off, as if offended at its very existence. He pulls away, tearing at his own shoes and Nick follows suit. They’re grinning at each other, panting loudly as they remove their clothing themselves.

Harry’s the first to become fully undressed, adept as always at stripping. He stares Nick down, standing without any hint of embarrassment or shyness as he runs his hands down his own body, hard and warm, fingers  fumbling over his tight muscles before grabbing at his cock, already half hard and hot in his cold hand.

Nick can’t take his eyes off of Harry, taking in the sight of Harry naked like he hadn’t seen for so many months. He’s got new tattoos, dark ink against light skin that’s even visible in the near darkness. Nick shuffles out of his pants, grabs the collar of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head from the back, then launches himself forward and pushes Harry back onto the couch behind him.

Flowers and colours are swirling behind Harry’s eyelids as he closes his eyes, the feeling of Nick’s naked flesh against his and his lips at his neck. He turns them sideways, so he can lay down completely and he writhes around desperately on his back. Nick kneels atop of him, peppering kisses down his throat, moving further down and onto his chest. He licks at his  nipples briefly, tweaking them with trembling fingers before kissing a line down his abs and down toward his v-line. 

“Might as well,” Nick whispers, kissing where he knows the tattoo is. Harry shivers, cock bouncing up closer to where Nick’s face is hovering. 

“Nick,” Harry whimpers.

“I know,” he replies. He sucks in a breath, then takes a firm grip at the base of Harry’s dick. “God, I missed your cock.”

“Missed your mouth,” Harry laughs, breathy and garbled, and Nick groans. With the hand not holding onto Harry, Nick massages Harry’s thigh as he licks a stripe up Harry’s dick.

Harry twitches, feeling swollen and dangerously close to coming already. “Nick, touch me, finger me open please. I want you to fuck me, please please please.”

“Always polite,” Nick gasps, but he reaches up to press his index and middle fingers into Harry’s mouth as he wraps his lips around the tip of his dick. Harry moans around his fingers, forgetting to suck on them from the feeling of suction on his own member. Nick pushes them further in his mouth, and Harry half-heartedly swirls his tongue around them. 

Nick hums in appreciation, then removes his fingers from his mouth and pushes Harry’s legs apart. Harry’s left leg hangs off the back of the couch, and hits something that clatters onto the floor with a crash. They both ignore it, Nick pressing his middle finger slowly into the heat of Harry’s hole.

“Oh, god.” Harry groans, hands reaching up to run through his own hair. He was shaking from the effort of holding in his orgasm, hoping to wait until Nick was inside him at least. That plan goes south, when Nick slips a second finger in while simultaneously taking more of Harry’s dick into his mouth. He comes suddenly, doesn’t even have time to open his mouth and warn Nick or even cry out as he comes down Nick’s throat.

Nick takes it without complaint, sucking it down like he’s thirsty for it. When Harry’s dry, he pulls off his dick, licking his lips then kissing at Harry’s inner thighs. He still has two fingers inside of him, and he twists them around in search of Harry’s prostate. 

He ghosts against it, and Harry’s feet pushes him up and off the couch in response. “Been imagining doing this to you for ages,” Nick grins, leaning down and licking his balls while bending his fingers over and over again, stimulating his prostate every time. Harry’s hard again within a few minutes, and he feels like crying he feels so over stimulated.

Nick pulls off his balls, and pulls his fingers out all at once. He reaches off the couch, grabbing at his discarded jeans and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. Nick pulls out a condom from the pocket that he’s meant to keep his change. He glances around the room, like he could possibly see in the dark, with the dull hope that he’d spot a bottle of lube just laying around in the vicinity. 

Harry sees this, peering through half closed eyes. “It’s okay,” he breathes, “it’s okay. I’m not— I don’t have— it’s okay.”

With fumbling hands, Nick tears open the package and slides the condom onto his dick. He climbs up his body, his own cock slotting against Harry’s, burning hot and leaking slightly. He kisses Harry, sliding his tongue over his lips and Harry can taste his own come. With a final peck, Nick pulls off and spits on his hand. “I’ll try not to make this hurt, then.”

Using spit as lube is never ideal, but neither of them have enough blood in their brains to even consider getting up to find some. Nick coats his cock as thoroughly as he can, lines up with Harry’s already slightly stretched hole, then starts pushing in. It’s not great for either party at first, painfully dry on his cock and Harry’s face is screwed up in pain. Nick huffs a breath, grabs the leg that’s not over the back of the couch, and hooks it over his elbow to further spread his legs. Veins pop up on his forehead in his concentration, pushing further and further in.

When he’s fully sheathed inside of Harry, they both let out a breath neither had known they were holding. Harry’s eyes are watery, tears leaking out and he grabs at his cock with one hand and fingers the slit. His other hand drifts down to his backside, and he feels where his hole is stretched with Nick’s cock.

Nick moans at the feeling of the wandering fingers, where Harry’s feeling the area with fascination. “Can I move? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Harry chokes out, nodding frantically. “Yes, please move.” Nick nearly sobs in relief, and he pulls out slightly before pressing back in. The stretch feels familiar, and soon enough Harry feels comfortable enough with Nick’s movements that he moves his hips against the cock pushing into him. Nick takes this as an encouragement, pulling out farther than before, and pushing in with more force. Soon enough, he’s slamming Harry into the cushion, the couch itself moving back and forth on the hardwood flooring. 

And Harry feels so put together instead of feeling like he’s being ripped apart. He’s filled to the brim with Nick, both physically and mentally, but now he doesn’t feel swept away by it. Doesn’t feel overwhelmed or like he’s about to explode. He’s just happy, and when he opens his eyes and sees Nick looking back down at him, like he’s beautiful and wonderful and like he’s never been more in love with a boy in his life, Harry feels sated on every level.

He realizes that they had lost their spark. But the problem wasn’t that it was gone forever, it was that they needed to find it. And with both of them being so careful, so tenuous with their remaining connection, how were they supposed to locate it? It wasn’t a reluctance to be reunited on either of their parts that had made things so awkward before; it was their reluctance to make things messy that made things stay exactly the way they were.

Harry thumbs at his slit, feeling his orgasm building again. “Nick,” he croaks, dropping his cock and taking a hold of Nick’s hips and pulling him into him as he thrusts. “Gonna come.”

“Come,” Nick nods, face red and puffing in exertion. “Look so pretty when you come, pretty lips, pretty everything.” 

“Want you to come,” Harry protests, nuzzling his face into Nick’s neck above him. “Want you to come inside me. Need your come in my pretty little ass.”

Nick’s eyes widen, and he repeats the words. “Pretty little ass, come in your pretty little ass, pounding your pretty little ass. Oh, god.” With a few more stuttering thrusts, Nick comes inside of him, and Harry screws his face up and comes with him, squirting onto Nick’s chest. 

Nick and Harry pant, gasping for breath. Nick lets go of Harry’s leg, and falls back down to sit upright on the couch. He leans his head back, chest heaving. Harry remains in the position he was in, legs stretched apart, hole pulsing and stretched. He feels bruised, and he already feels the soreness setting in. 

They pant for a few more minutes, before Nick turns his head over to look at Harry and starts laughing. 

“What?” Harry asks, slightly self-consciously. He unhooks his leg from the back of the couch, and crosses his ankles neatly on Nick’s lap.

”’Need your come in my pretty little ass?’” Nick snickers, resting his hand on Harry’s foot. “Who says that, besides porn stars?”

Harry stifles a giggle, before sniffing daintily. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“It did,” Nick admits, and he lets out a final deep breath. “No complaints here. None.”

“Good.” Harry smiles, and he sits up, wincing slightly at the pain of folding himself in half. He clamors over, and rests his head on Nick’s shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Nick sighs, leaning his head on top of Harry’s. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees easily, feeling sleepy and worn out. He stands up, pulling Nick with him.

Nick shakes his head, feeling at his chest. “I’ll meet you there. Need to clean your spunk off my chest.”

Harry giggles, nodding. “Hurry up. Might want a round three by the time you get up to bed.” He scampers off, rounding the corner and climbing the stairs before he hears Nick’s response.

“We’re not all bloody 19 years old anymore!”

~~~

The morning dawns bright and lovely, natural sunlight streaming through the windows and only their sprawled bodies, tangled with each other and the sheets. Harry awoke in that post-orgasm haze, where there’s a smile already blooming on his face and his cheeks are dimpling from the memory of getting off.

He stretches slowly, feeling the tightness of his muscles and ignoring the more severe pain in his lower back. He’d be moving delicately today. He turns over, looking at a still snoring Nick beside him. He cuddles in closer to him, pressing his morning wood into his side.

Nick starts awake, squinting at Harry with a smile of his own growing. “Good morning, then?"

Harry grins. “Very good morning. Better night."

"You’re terrible." Nick scratches his face blearily, then leans over to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek. “My breath stinks."

"I’m sure my cock wont mind." Harry shrugs, and Nick sniggers. “What?" Harry continues. “It needs a good morning kiss too."

"If my memory serves me correctly," Nick simpers, but already shifting slowly down under the sheets. “My cocks the one who should be getting the morning greeting. Seeing as it fucked you so nicely last night. Some gratitude would be nice."

Harry rests his hands behind his head luxuriously. “Maybe after. You’re already down there."

Nick scoffs, but takes Harry in his mouth anyways. He’s efficient and quick, taking Harry all the way in until his nose is rubbing against Harry’s pubic hair. Harry comes without much celebration, and Nick pulls off wiping his face after swallowing.

"Thanks!" Harry grins, feeling loose and happy. 

"You’re welcome." Nick pats Harry’s stomach, then rolls back onto his own back. “I believe it’s my turn now."

"I believe it is." Harry enthusiastically rolls onto his stomach, then hovers over Nick’s dick. He studies it curiously, eyeing it up and down. “Hello old friend. How have you been? I’ve missed you."

Nick groans. “Can you please stop talking to it and just suck it already?"

Harry ignores him. “I’m going to put you in my mouth now. I hope that’s okay with you. I rather like you in my mouth. I prefer you in there to not in my mouth." 

"Harry!"

"Alright, alright." Harry mumbles, taking a hold of it and lowering his head. “No need to get so pushy." It feels familiar in his hand, and when he does open his lips and allow the tip to rest on his tongue, the heady taste he knows so well makes him moan. He quickly takes more and more in, absolutely greedy for it, pressing against his cheek and swirling his tongue around it. He’s sloppier than he usually is, not caring that spit is dripping from his mouth as he sinks further and further down on it. Nick’s making whimpering noises, muttering nonsense to himself that Harry can’t hear. He takes a deep breath through his nose, then dives down, tilting his head so that his throat is open and he takes it the full length.

Nick’s hands have navigated south, and he holds onto he back of Harry’s head lightly, holding him down long enough that when he comes back up he’s sputtering and coughing. 

"Sorry," Nick gasps through slight laughter.

“‘s okay." Harry assures him, before going back down on it. He makes sure to hold it longer this time, feeling the trembling of Nick’s thighs around his face.

Harry hums lightly, and that’s all it takes for Nick to come, spurting down his throat. He doesn’t have much of a choice but to swallow, as it’s already halfway down his esophagus. He’s briefly sad that he didn’t really get a chance to taste it, but he figures he’ll have time for that later, and he can still taste the slightly salty come a bit when he gives Nick’s limp dick a final suck. 

Harry pulls off, and he throws himself up to smack a kiss on Nick’s lips.

"Cool," Nick says after a minute of sour breath kissing. “Now it’s a good morning."

"Good morning just to wake up next to you," Harry replies truthfully. He snuggles up on Nick’s side, fitting perfectly under his shoulder. 

"True." Nick nods solemnly. He kisses Harry’s forehead, smile bright as the sun outside. “So."

"So."

"So. Are we going to come out together, then? Like we said last night?"

Harry stares at the ceiling, forgetting that he requested that and Nick agreed. He tries to keep his face smooth, hiding how much he really wanted to. “I suppose. I’m up for it, if you are."

"You sure?" Nick asks dolefully. “It’s not all fun and games. People are still just as shitty as they’ve always been."

Harry nods. “Yes. I’m sure. I don’t mind, just want everyone to know that I’m with you." He smiles, playing absently with Nick’s chest hair. 

"Brilliant. How do you want to do it?"

"I should probably call my PR," Harry replies. “I think this is one of those things they’ll want to know about in advance. Being gay and all."

"Not gay," Nick reminds him. “Bisexual. Or whatever."

Harry kisses his collar. “Right. Bisexual. I love that you remember that."

Nick shrugs. “It’s no big thing. I reckon you should give your person a call, then you should just tweet it or something. ‘Hey twitter, I’m currently dating @grimmers. He’s a babe. Light of my life. Please RT.’ That’d work."

"That’s stupid." Harry shakes his head, exasperated. “I’m not tweeting me coming out. It’s tacky and horrible."

"True." Nick thoughtfully stares at the ceiling. “We could release a sex tape?"

"Nick!" 

"Okay, okay. Er, maybe we can just go out for a drink and give us a kiss in front of everyone."

Harry shifts on the bed. “Eh, maybe. That sounds like a romantic comedy though, doesn’t it? Awfully scripted."

"Then maybe you shouldn’t plan it." Nick shrugs, closing his eyes to go back to sleep. “Just tell your person you’re going to do it whether they want it or not, and then just wait for the right moment."

"Yeah." Harry nods, looking over at Nick. He loves him. “I love you."

Nick smiles, eyes still closed. “I love you too."

~~~

Hours later, when they’ve properly woken up and Nick’s in the shower, Harry quickly calls his rep. He tells her that he’s going to do it, that it’s time for him to come out and that he’s coming out with Nick. She sighs, pain in her voice but sounding resigned and she simply tells him that she knew it was coming. She tells him that she’s going to set up an interview with the entire band in a few days, and that she’ll find a way to make it work.

She tells him good luck, and he thanks her gratefully. It went much better than he could have expected. He half thought that she’d forbid him from doing it, or that she’d make him do press by himself. When Nick gets out of the shower, he kisses him on the mouth and tells him that he’s baking a cake. Nick shrugs, agreeing always to Harry’s baked goods. He sits at a chair at the counter as Harry bustles around, gathering ingredients. They listen to the Maccabees and the Lumineers, and they join together for a rousing mash-up of Live While We’re Young and Hit Me Baby One More Time as the cake cools (Harry One Direction) (Nick Britney Spears). 

Harry’s glad that they’re at his house, because Nick’s got fuck all in his kitchen for properly baking and decorating things. He’s just finished shoving Nick away from trying to cool down the cake by blowing spit bubbles at it, when he suddenly realizes how he’s going to do this.

"Sit down," he points at Nick, who follows his direction remarkably easily. Harry picks up the icing, his bakery experience kicking in as he evenly iced it all around with pink vanilla icing. He adds blue flowers around the edges of the round cake, happy he had invested in the icing with the sparkles in it. For the final touch, he takes the bag and ices a message on the top of the cake. When it’s iced to his pleasure, he stands back and gazes proudly at it.

"What do you think, Nick?" Harry asks, putting his icing utensils down and gesturing for the man to walk over.

Nick laughs when he reads the red words, looking pretty and sparkly against the pink cake and blue flowers. “Subtle, is that." He wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “Can we eat it?"

"In a minute." Harry reaches into his jeans and pulls out his phone. He hands the phone to Nick and picks the cake up, holding it up beside his face. “Take a picture,” he orders and Nick scoffs “bossy”. He switches to the front facing camera, smirking at Harry.

“If you’re going to do it, might as well go all for it.” He says sagely, and then leans closer to Harry, pecking him on the lips and taking the picture of the two of them. Harry sets the cake back down, taking the phone back and his cheek dimples. He makes sure that the message on the cake is easily visible, then quickly sends it to his bandmates. _going to tweet this, if it’s okay with you? already talked to pr xxx._ “Okay. Now we can eat it."

Nick shakes his head fondly, before taking his own picture. “You’re a loon, Harry Styles." He reaches to the cupboard for the plates, and Harry finds a knife to cut the cake with.

The boys all reply nearly instantaneously, his phone vibrating as he slices them both generous portions.

From Louis, _you fruitcake of course its ok_

From Liam, _dont see why no, proud of u!!!_

From Zayn, _Happy for you Haz, go crazy aha_

From Niall, _sure why not jus save me some of that cake_

Harry giggles as he sits down at the table with Nick on his side. Nick digs right in, making the proper noises of appreciation that a cake deserves, but Harry taps away at his phone for a few more moments. “Truthstagram?" He captions it, smiling at his own joke, then adds on “happy one year 7 months-ish @grimmers" as an afterthought. He shows it to Nick, who smiles with icing on his upper lip, and nods his approval.

Harry grins, leans forward and licks the icing off his lip before pressing share. He locks his phone, stows it away in his pocket, then picks up his fork to dig into his own slice of cake. 

He’s got half of the ‘not’ from the “NOT STRAIGHT" iced daintily onto the cake, and he laughs giddily from what he had just done, and what he had to look forward to. What he had to look forward to with Nick.

~~~

Coming out, Harry found, didn’t really change anything about his day-to-day life very drastically. He got asked at interviews about how Nick was doing, or about how hard it was to come out, but that was about it. His people were very thorough in moderating interviews, and trying to limit what was printed in the press about them, as best as they possibly could. His mum called him once and told him they were all very proud, but then she moved on. But like before, Harry still avoided his twitter mentions. Still avoided looking at the comments on his Instagram account (especially on the photo that caused all the controversy). Still tried to ignore all the comments whispered behind his back, but within earshot about his sex life and how dirty he was. It wasn’t anything new, not really. He was used to ignoring what everyone said about him already, why would it be any different when what they were whispering had been confirmed to be true?

And now, he had Nick which was much better to facing everything alone. He had Nick to hold his hand when they went out, and he had Nick to cover his ears and kiss him better when the hateful voices got a bit too loud. Not that Nick had it any better than him; in fact it might have been a bit worse. As well as getting insults hurled at him for being gay at all, he was also accused of turning that young Harry Styles queer as well. Then there was the age gap between them that made everyone go crazy, and while there was less rumours of pedophilia than there were when Harry had been dating Caroline Flack, they were still there.

It was difficult, but after the first few interviews were done it improved drastically. After he had first come out, it was all anyone wanted to ask about. After a couple of weeks, people became a bit less interested. Especially when he reached the limit of what he would reveal about their relationship.

He’d talk about how they met, and how much he loved Nick now. He’d talk about how they were on and off again for a long time, and he assured everyone that when he had been dating Taylor Swift that he’d been single. He also tried to make it clear that Grimmy had not been the reason for the Haylor split, but he remained silent as to the reason for the end of that relationship.

He wouldn’t talk about his and Nick’s sex life. He wouldn’t answer probing questions such as who tops and who bottoms, and he wouldn’t talk about any of their problems. There were just some things that other people didn’t have any business of knowing, and he had been a strong supporter of that from day one. He was revealing the information in the first place for the sake of getting it out of the way; not to prove anything to anyone or to try and make he and Nick out to be gay icons. He always encouraged the interviewers to stop asking about it, and would invariably turn the conversation to the other members of the band, or to One Direction in general.

But he wasn’t ashamed of being in a relationship with a male, and he tried to let everyone know. He continued to take photos and vines about his life, and his life just so happened to include a lot of Nick Grimshaw. 

After one tweet about Nick making terrible eggs for breakfast that somehow snowballed into the trending topic #ThingsNicksShitAt, Nick deleted his twitter and refused to leave the house for anything but his job for a couple of days. It frustrated Harry, and he told his twitter followers so (the number of which had gone down initially, but was rising exponentially every day). He tweeted at one girl who had a One Direction related account but had called Nick a fag that it made him sad to see fans of his so obviously disrespecting him and his life decisions. It hurt him that some of the people who were supposed to support him were actively trying to hurt someone he loved. He said so, then logged out of twitter on his phone and refused to tweet until a month later, and only because his PR had begged him to start tweeting again. He crawled into bed with Nick that night of his tweets, and kissed Nick until he was smiling again, and they had sex that felt more spiteful than anything, like the dick up his ass was a big ‘fuck you’ to everyone who didn’t want them together.

A few gay organizations approached Harry asking if he wanted to help them. They approached him alone, him with Nick, and then One Direction as a band. He didn’t mind, and asked his team and his band mates if it would be okay. They told him that it was in the band’s best interests for them to appear unified and supportive of the gay community, but they didn’t encourage them all together appearing in anti-gay bullying ads, or the like. But Harry was free to do whatever he wanted. Harry didn’t like the sound of that; it made him feel as if One Direction was rapidly falling apart, and like he was becoming a separate unit from the rest of the boys. But he really wanted to do something in the name of anti-bullying. 

With Nick at his side, Harry recorded an “It Gets Better” video, inspiring a second surge of popularity for the project. Harry nuzzles at Nick’s neck in the video, and they sit with Nick’s arm around his shoulder and Harry feels so giddily happy that he can’t stop grinning even though the video is supposed to be serious.

Harry says, “please don’t kill yourself. I would have missed out on so many opportunities and amazing experiences if I had cut my life short when I first realized I liked boys as well.”

And Nick stares at him for a moment, as if he had never even considered a universe where Harry did not exist. As if he couldn’t fathom a world where Harry Styles didn’t wake him up in the morning. “And I’d have never met you. Where’d I be now?” 

One Direction publicly donates £10,000 to the project, and Louis borrows Harry’s “Love Is Equal” shirt a couple of times in solidarity. Other than the It Gets Better video, Harry flat out refuses to do anything without his band mates involved. He doesn’t want to be known apart from his band. He loves them. Just a tiny bit less than he loves Nick.

~~~

Ever aware of their time together rapidly running out, Nick and Harry try and not let the publicity from their coming out ruin anything. After Nick’s stopped avoiding direct sunlight because of his miniature twitter meltdown, Harry takes Nick out on a date. He plans it down to the tiniest detail; trying his hardest to make it perfect for Nick. Somewhere along the line, he’s become suddenly aware of the fact that Nick isn’t the only one who has to make the effort in their relationship; they both need to try.

He takes him to this dumb restaurant in East London with stupidly expensive food that Nick loves. Harry has an almost unlimited amount of funds, but even he can’t justify buying a £70 hamburger. He orders fries, and some fancy custard that he relents to buying because fancy custard is supposed to be expensive.

Nick keeps leaning over the table, and scooping up some of the custard. He keep saying dumb things like, “this is hella good, soz for eating it all," so Harry’s 90% sure that Nick’s aware that there are at least thirty paparazzi’s waiting for them directly outside the restaurant, partially blocking the entrance. Harry had asked the staff for a table close to the back of the restaurant, and perhaps some sort of divider, but the waitress had scoffed in his face and given them a shit table near the kitchen doors. So, partially petitioned off, if Harry didn’t mind occasionally being knocked by the swinging door.

When they’ve finished their meal, Harry and Nick put on their sweaters rather nervously. Nick keeps picking at the threads poking out at the bottom of his sleeve, then reaching over to straighten Harry’s collar. They ask a different, but equally snobby waitress if there is possibly a back entrance that they can leave out of, but she tells them that it’s off limits to everyone but kitchen staff. Harry pays for the food, paying exactly what is on the bill and leaving 2 pence (to make a statement to the shite service if anything), and then they shuffle reluctantly to the front door.

There are actual bouncers outside, trying to push back the photographers all clamoring over each other to try and get a picture of Harry and Nick eating custard. Nick slips his hand in Harry’s, squeezes it, then opens the door to beat their way through.

It’s chaotic, and messy, and if there’s one thing that Harry would make illegal, it was this. It was more of a flash mob, a flurry of desperate movement and bright snaps of pictures being taken from weird and intrusive angles. And since he hasn’t gotten any of his security team with him, it’s more intense than even he is used to. Harry gets hit in the side of the head with a camera, and there was sure to be a picture of him clutching at his head in the papers the next day. Nick tried his best to help him, but it was hard when he was equally the subject of interest to the paps, and they kept trying to get closer to him. 

The mob, mostly grown men with entire lives revolving around inserting themselves into the lives of other people shouted questions and accusations at the two of them, asking questions and making statements to try and evoke a reaction out of them. Some mobs were polite, this mob just happened to not be.

They pushed their way through the frantic crowd, Harry in front, clutching at Nick’s hand as he led him out. Harry would glance back every few moments, eyes squinted against the lights, and Nick looked back at him with thinly-veiled panic in his eyes, like he had his eyes trained to the back of Harry’s head the entire time. Harry smiled tightly at him, and he hoped Nick understood that it meant, “keep pushing."

Nick must have, because he furrowed his brow and nodded curtly, before redoubling his efforts to escape the crowd. 

They had parked around the corner, but Harry was quickly realizing that they probably weren’t going to be able to make it to the car if this lot kept up. The side of his skull was thumping from where it had been hit, and he was flicking his head back and forth down the partially illuminated street. The sun had gone down sometime when they were eating. The longer they stayed stationary, the worse it would be for the both of them. They didn’t want to seem like the blustering fools who couldn’t even find their way down the streets in London at night. But then again, Harry was the blustering fool who couldn’t find a way out of a restaurant with his boyfriend, let alone navigate the streets.

Nick, however, was not. Though it was physically impossible to, Harry swore that he could hear the sound of Nick heaving a great sigh, before he pulled Harry in closer to his body, dragging him in by the hand holding his. It was a bit easier, once Harry was pressed against Nick’s side, he found, as they no longer had to risk being separated or snapping their arms in their attempt to stay together. And having Nick’s arm around him made him feel safe; secure.

Quietly, only loud enough that Harry could hear, “don’t worry, love. I’m well hard. I’ll get us out of here," Nick whispered in his ear, covering his mouth so that they couldn’t even read his lips. Harry turned his head to look at Nick curiously, and Nick darted in quickly and pecked Harry on the forehead with a grin.

With that, Nick pulled rapidly away from Harry, turning his attention to the paparazzi who were acting even rowdier now that Nick and Harry were close together. “Can you please back up, please?" Nick called out loudly. “Harry’s feeling dizzy, he had a bit too much wine and he’s about to vomit. Might want to protect all your pretty cameras." Nick gestured at Harry significantly, who adopted a somber look to play along. 

Immediately, the inner layer of photographers attempted to back up, actually pulling their cameras away from Harry’s spewing distance. The people near the back still pushed forward, either unafraid of puke or they hadn’t heard Nick’s announcement.

Harry swayed theatrically, trying to look as likely to blow as Nick was trying to make him seem. His face was already covered in a thin layer of sweat from the heat of the bodies, and he was pale enough even after a summer in America to pass off as genuinely ill. Nick clutched his upper arm tightly, pretending to steady him. He moved in closer again, murmuring into his ear, “run."

Without a second’s hesitation, Harry and Nick jumped into motion. Harry, unsure of really where he was supposed to be running to, relied entirely on Nick’s fingers still tight around his arm. He leapt at a smaller looking man at the thinnest edge of the circle, and was breaking through the line before anyone really knew what was happening.

Nick and Harry were positively roaring with laughter, listening to the sounds of the paparazzi behind them bumbling confusedly after them, and just barely audible was the sound of their feet hitting the damp pavement. Harry couldn’t stop laughing, feeling high off of adrenaline, and he kept glancing back at the flashes of light back behind them, smiling brighter than he was when they were being asked to.

"Hurry up, Harry!" Nick shouted through peals of his own raucous giggling. He dragged Harry around the corner of the street, in the opposite direction of where Harry’s car was parked. As soon as they had turned, Nick crossed the street, getting them nearly hit by a couple of cars who honked angrily at them, then around another corner onto a darker street. Nick pointed forward, gesturing towards a bar that he knew about halfway down the brick road. He pulled Harry in the right direction, pulling him in close again and tucking him in under his shoulder.

"Should’ve brought a hat," Nick muses, and he pulls up Harry’s hood for him. “It’s your hair. World famous."

Harry giggles, cheeks dimpling like mad and he leans in forward and kisses Nick. The air is chilly where it’s creeping in his collar, and Nick is so warm and so real. He stops in his tracks, raising a hand to the side of Nick’s face, stroking down from his cheekbone to his jaw. Nick’s hands sink to Harry’s lower back, gliding over the curve of his back to his barely-there arse. 

Nick pulls away first, and Harry follows his lips for a second before leaning back again. The man’s grip tightens, and Nick just stares at him for a moment, face only partially illuminated by a nearby streetlamp. 

"I love you so goddamn much, you know that?" Nick croaks, and Harry doesn’t feel butterflies anymore; more of a sense of warmth rooted deep down in his belly. With Nick looking at him, he feels adored. He feels loved, with every touch and every kiss and every word and every side-glance. 

"I know." Harry kisses him again much quicker, going up on his tiptoes to reach properly. “I love you too."

Nick glances over Harry’s shoulder, whose back is to where they had just walked from. “Uh oh," his eyes crinkle. “Time to get going."

Harry laughs breathlessly, and they start fumbling over to the bar, partially falling over each other’s feet.

~~~

By the end of September, Harry’s more annoyed with the tour than anything else. He’s been having an absolutely lovely few weeks with Nick, figuring out a pattern where they spend an equal amount of time waking up in the other’s flats, and going out with friends to fashion shows and they take turns making dinner. It feels properly domestic now, like they’ve finally perfected the art of coming home to the other, and Harry’s absolutely dreading leaving. 

But he’s got to, and they both know it. And this time, they’re going back to Australia, and it’s only until the end of October. He’ll be back by November. 

Nick pledges himself to help him pack his bags, and apparently Aimee’s bought Harry a dildo for the tour, which Nick spends the entire time Harry’s packing just complaining about it. 

"It’s bigger than I am." Nick says dully, eyeing the bright purple toy. “You’re going to be sorely disappointed when you come home."

Harry snorts, giddy over the reminder that his home was with Nick now. “Well, definitely not  _sorely_ disappointed." 

"Shut up. You’re off to be a popstar, and you’re going to realize that you can get all the satisfaction you need from a sex toy. At least it doesn’t get leg cramps when it’s fucking you." 

"Would you get over that already? I said it was fine. You were in a tight position for a long time. Even the best of us get leg cramps sometimes."

Nick perks up at that, tossing the dildo onto the side of the bed. “Does that mean I’m one of the best?" He raises his eyebrows suggestively at him. Harry just rolls his eyes, as he continues packing his whites. 

They have a relatively drama free goodbye; Nick walking Harry to the car that’s taking him to the airport and tells him that he’s going to rob him blind while he’s gone and leave him for another man. Harry kisses him brightly, fluttering his eyelashes coyly, ensuring that Nick’s got not only a boner as Harry gets in the car, but also a deeper understanding that there’s no one out there better for him than Harry.

The flight is shit, nearly 24 hours of constantly moving. Harry naps through at least half of it, the other 11 or so hours he spends kicking the back of Liam’s seat, and playing cards with Niall. Louis at some point ends up sprawled out across the aisle floor, and the flight attendant needs to step over his body to get to the front. Lou tells Louis off for being a shit, and Louis gets defensive and the remainder of the flight is awkward and tense.

They land, and it’s hot, and Harry’s used to it. 

He feels a bit guilty about it, but he can’t express just how psyched he is to be back in Australia. It was just one of those places that humbled him; reminding him how far they have come as a band that they can sell out multiple shows on the other side of the world. Australia was one of the places that Harry had on his mental list of “Places I Wouldn’t Mind Living”.

It’s everything he likes about America, in a nicer, somewhat deadlier package. It’s warm and beautiful and the people there are interesting and have a perpetual tan. They sound more English than Americans, but without sounding identical. Harry loves Australia. Sydney, mainly. He tweets that he loves Sydney one night, and half his mentions are people assuming he’s talking about a girl, and he can’t possibly be in a relationship with Nick.

A lot of people have taken that route. They write articles and analysis’ on tiny, insignificant details of his life that mean that he obviously is faking being with Nick. He smiled at a girl in the front row, he must be fucking her. He wore a blue shirt, it must remind him of Louis’ eyes, Larry is real. It’s a bit exhausting, and a bit degrading. He thought that all the rumours surrounding him would go away when he finally came out and told the truth, but it wasn’t happening like that at all. People continued to find excuses for the things he did that pointed to he and Nick being fake; picking through the truth and trying to decipher how it could work in their favor.

Nick, as always, gets it worse. He calls Harry one morning (Nick’s morning), and he sounds rough. Without Harry there to diffuse the tension, Nick’s left dealing with more reporters asking about his private life than he’s ever been used to.

Apparently, there was a gross picture of him in the mail that morning. Nick took a picture of it to show Harry as reference, and even he could see that the man was looking a little rough. Nick tried to make it seem like he thought it was funny (the caption saying, “Harry Styles’ boy toy looking Grim"), but Harry knew him enough to know the stressors in his voice when he was upset. Harry apologized profusely for it, because that’s what he does when something upsetting happens, and Nick tells him not to be daft. Just tells him that he’s already counting the days until Harry comes back.

October comes around, and Louis invites Harry out to the shops with him. The two boys don’t wear anything to disguise themselves, and they know that they’re being followed the moment they set foot in the mall Louis’ insisted on going to.

They scurry along, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible as they make their way through the building. Harry asks Louis if he’s got a specific place in mind, because he’s got a look in his eyes like he knows exactly where he’s going. Louis glances at him, lips pursed strangely. He nods curtly, and gestures for Harry to keep following him. Harry goes along easily, knowing that he’d know eventually.

Louis leads him outside a bit, walking him to a building that is slightly apart from the main part of the mall. Harry narrows his eyes when he figures out what it is.

He grabs Louis’ arm, stopping them in their tracks. They’ve been outside for all of twenty seconds, and Harry can already feel himself start to sweat again. “Why are you acting so weird? And why are you going to a jeweller?"

Louis looks uncomfortable, like he never usually is. He shuffles his feet, kicking at a stray rock on the ground. “I, uh. I wanted your help with something. With picking something out for Eleanor."

Harry’s frown lessens. “Okay," Harry nods. “Like, a bracelet or something?"

Louis looks almost painfully awkward. “No, I… I wanted to buy her a ring."

Harry freezes. “A ring? Like…"

Louis bites his lip. “An engagement ring."

A moment passes, Harry frozen with his hand still tight on Louis’ wrist. It takes him a minute to understand, to fully process what is being told to him. An engagement ring. An engagement ring means—-

"You’re going to marry her!" Harry shouts suddenly. There’s no trace of the previous confusion or hesitation; just pure joy and happiness for his friend. “You’re going to marry Eleanor!" He throws himself at Louis, despite the fact they’ve both got a fine layer of sweat while they’re not hugging.

"Whoa, Harry!" Louis nearly tumbles under his sudden weight, but he’s laughing. “I can’t marry her unless she says yes."

"Right! She’s going to say yes. She has to! You’re going to get married! You can have a joint wedding with Zayn! And you can have brunette children!"

Harry slowly pulls himself away from Louis, but still has both of his arms on the older man’s shoulders. He’s feeling himself get a bit weepy, and he wipes away a few tears that haven’t even gotten the chance to fall. “Are you sure about this? You’re still quite young."

Louis looks at Harry fondly. “Yeah, I’m sure about Eleanor. We’ve been dating nearly 2 years. And we wouldn’t need to get married right away. We could have a long engagement. We could wait awhile, if we weren’t sure. But I just love her so much, Harry. You’ve no idea how much it means to me that you’re so supportive about this."

"Of course I’m supportive," Harry glows. “I love you, love Eleanor. If you want to marry Eleanor, I’m fully behind you."

"Thanks, Hazza." Louis’ eyes are nearly closed, he’s smiling so wide. Harry feels himself melt at his old X-Factor nickname; it’d been years since Louis had last called him that. “You’re the first person I’ve told. And I… I wanted to ask you to be my best man."

Harry bursts into real tears now. Louis reaches out affectionately and wipe at them. He glances to his side, and sees casual passerby’s staring curiously at the two of them, standing in the middle of the parking lot. “Of course! Yes yes yes!" Harry says a little too loudly, and then quiets down. “Let’s go get you a ring."

~~~

Harry tries not to notice, but he can’t help it. His head is spinning with the news Louis had dumped on him. He’s so happy for him, but he’s got him thinking about weddings and tuxedos and he’s reminded of just how much he’d like to get married.

When he’s meant to be helping Louis pour over the engagement rings, he keeps glancing at the male wedding rings slightly aside from the rest. Silver ones for engagement, gold for the wedding bands.

He wonders, absently, if Nick would ever give him one. Or, if he’d ever give Nick one.

He thinks that he’d like that. He’d like that very much.

Harry thinks about marrying Nick, and it doesn’t even matter that he’s not really paying attention. Louis leaves with a $28,000 ring, and a smile brighter than Harry’s own.

~~~

Nick calls on FaceTime two days after, and he’s got an amused look on his face.

"Heard you got engaged." Nick wiggles his eyebrows. “Congrats to the happy couple."

Harry’s still just barely waking up; it being ridiculously early where he is. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve not gotten engaged."

Nick looks so bloody smug about whatever it is he’s on about. “So Louis didn’t propose marriage to you in the middle of a parking lot outside a Tiffany’s? And you weren’t overheard by multiple witnesses yelling ‘yes, of course!’?"

Harry groans, pulling himself out of his hotel bed, pulling on a pair of pants so he can go give Louis a dead arm. “If I was proposed to in a parking lot outside Tiffany’s, you can rest assured that I’d not be saying yes."

Nick laughs loudly. “Noted, Styles." Harry blushes.

"Where’d you hear this, though? The Mail?"

"No, the Mirror this time! I got a call at half 7 on the work phone, asking if I had any comments about us breaking up and getting left for Tomlinson. I didn’t answer, of course, but Ian gave them a mouthful."

Harry glances down at the phone. Nick’s in bed, and Harry’s once again struck with the realization that time zones are fucking weird and annoying. Nick’s probably just laying down for the night, and he’s just waking up. “And you weren’t bothered by it?"

Nick shrugs, and as far as Harry can tell, he seems completely genuine. “I’m not worried about you leaving me."

Harry stops in the doorway between his and Louis’ room, and he smiles. “Good." He says happily. “Because I’m not going anywhere."

"Except halfway across the world at a seconds notice?"

"Yes. Except then."

They laugh, and Harry misses Nick. “I miss you." Nick says before Harry can open his mouth. “But it’s passed my bed time. I’ve a job in the morning."

"I know," Harry sighs. “Wish I was there to yell at you in the morning when your alarm wakes me up."

"The true epitome of our relationship, probably." Nick makes a kissy face, but is interrupted by a yawn. “Goodnight, I love you."

"Love you too, babe." Harry does Nick one better, and actually kisses his camera. “Send me a picture of your cock later."

"Kay." Nick snuggles contentedly in his blankets. “Seeya, popstar."

~~~

October passes quickly enough, and Nick calls with the news that he’s been given some more time off work. He says it slightly hesitantly, a question in his voice that Harry’s pretty sure he’s got to answer. It’s always strange hearing Nick sound anything less than silly and confident, and Harry thinks that he’d like to keep from sounding insecure for the rest of forever, or something.

Harry asks Nick to come to Australia. Nick asks if he’s paying.

~~~

Going to pick up Nick at the airport ends up being a bit nerve-wracking, but nothing disastrous. He waits in the car for the most part, until Nick’s texted and said that he’s just waiting to pick up his luggage. Mindful of his last experience with Nick out in public, Harry shuffles with a handful of security guards and a snapback pulling his hair out of his face to the gates, passing his phone from hand to hand nervously as they stand aside. No one spots him until Nick’s just walking through the gates, and by that time it’s too late for them to ask for pictures; Harry kisses Nick on the cheek, pulls the duffel bag from his shoulder, and tugs him out of the way.

Nick looks like death; but a flight that long does that to a person. He’s pale and the bags under his eyes are dark and monstrous, and his quiff looks frazzled and liable to tumble down or frizz up at any given moment. But Nick smiles tiredly at Harry, throwing an arm affectionately around the younger man as they walk steadily out of the airport.

They have a car waiting for them just outside the door, and Harry always laughs at the look of self-satisfaction Nick gets on his face when he’s treated with luxury. The security guards take a different car behind them, and Harry and Nick climb into the same car with dark-tinted windows. They make out a bit as they drive back to the hotel that Harry’s got set up for Nick, before they head to the venue to goof around until the show.

The lads are happy enough to see Nick (perhaps besides Louis), and Nick ends up spending a lot of time with Gemma and Lou Teasdale. Harry has sound check, and other boyband type things to get to, but it doesn’t stop him from feeling grumpy and jealous every time he turns around and sees that Nick is hanging out with the wrong Styles.

But an hour before the show begins, Nick takes Harry into a single bathroom backstage, and blows him so good that Harry’s seeing stars when he comes.

And Nick’s exhausted, and looks absolutely dead on his feet, but he still sits in the crowd at their show, and sings along to every song he knows (which turns out to be a lot of them). Harry makes silly faces at him during the entire show; blowing kisses and singing directly in the direction of where Nick’s sitting. He remembers a couple months ago, when doing something like this would not have even been a possibility for him. The rest of the boys could have their girlfriends at their shows, and they could act as ridiculous and openly romantic as they wanted towards them (an opportunity that Harry had always quietly resented them for, as they seemed to be wasting it). And he remembers being sad and quiet during 2012, thinking about all the reasons why he wouldn’t be able to come out while in a boyband, and thinking about all the people he imagined would hate him for being open with his sexuality.

And here he was, singing to his boyfriend in the crowd, and everyone knew it; and everyone was fine with it. It nearly made him tear up multiple times.

During Kiss You, Harry takes the liberty of making a slight alteration of some of the lyrics. With the screams of the crowd roaring in his ears, he takes the ‘girl’ in his part, and changes it to boy, grinning at the sound of his voice over the arena singing, “ _and tell me boy, if every time we touch_ _…_ _”_  

~~~

They’ve got a serious, business-type meeting the morning they’re set to fly to Japan, and all five of the boys begrudgingly get themselves to the car. Harry peels himself out of bed, a bit late, but takes care to kiss his way down Nick’s exposed back, as the man snoozes on his stomach.

They eventually make their way to the very official looking building in Melbourne, where they’ve inexplicably got an Australian centre of operations. Zayn and Harry exchange dark looks, both of their eyes puffy with the rest that they had been taken from them. They throw themselves into chairs around the table, looking like five scruffy and reckless teenagers, especially in comparison to their actual PR team crowded on the other side of the table.

Harry yawns loudly, trying to cover his mouth as they begin talking, an incomprehensible drone of numbers and quarters that Harry couldn’t even pretend to be able to understand at this hour. Niall is looking noticeably around the room, presumably for the breakfast that they’re used to being offered when they’re forced into being responsible for their own business. No breakfast buffet is in sight, and Niall sinks grumpily into his chair. Louis watches Niall’s search, and his disappointment, and he sniggers at him. Zayn keeps cracking his knuckles, a nervous habit that Harry knew meant he wanted a smoke.

"Come on, it’s time to get serious, lads." Liam frowns at them. The effect his words would usually carry is lost, as he looks more like a giant lump of over-sized trackies than a man.

"Okay." Louis, inexplicably awake, and inexplicably cheerful, salutes Liam with a wink. He then leans over to Harry, leering at him. He takes an exaggerated sniff. "You smell like sex."

Harry reflects briefly to his night with Nick. “Dunno what you’re talking about. Nick and I stayed up all night talking about politics and Cameron’s block on porn.” He lies quietly, wrinkling his nose at Louis defiantly.

"Yeah, okay." Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, singing a song under his breath that Harry could only barely decipher.

Harry waits a moment, to see if Louis’ going to continue harassing him, or if he’s finished. He glances at Liam, who is deep in discussion with their rep, who is dismissing most of the more important looking people from the room. He tilts his head to Louis’ ear. “Are you singing Drops of Jupiter?”

Louis grins at him, eyes crinkling up at the edges. “Eleanor arrived yesterday. I did it last night.”

"Did what? Sang Drops of Jupiter?" Harry asks slowly, although he thinks that he’s got a pretty good idea of what exactly he’s talking about. Zayn looks away from where Liam is still blearily trying to decide on a few last minute changes to the album.

Louis’ eyes twinkle. “I asked El to marry me.”

"What?" Niall squawks. He exchanges a look with Zayn, who looks just as surprised. Harry feels smug; he must have been the only one who Louis told beforehand.

Louis leans over to Niall, and ruffles his hair, soft and limp without product. He turns back to Harry. “I asked her to come and visit early, and she really didn’t want to, you know? But once I told her that Nick was here too, she thought no one would really notice if she just snuck in. Because, you guys are a bloody spectacle.”

Harry scoffs, but nods. They are quite the circus production. “Go on.”

"Yeah. So, you know that she came to the show, and I kept seeing her out of the corner of my eye, and you’ve no idea how distracting she is. But anyways, apparently some girl was yelling at her the entire show, so Eleanor was a bit upset when she finally came backstage. I wasn’t sure if I should go through with it, but at this point it’s too late to back out."

Harry spots Zayn and Niall listening intently, and even Liam and Katie seemed to have sputtered to a stop. Louis sat up straighter, always happy to be the centre of attention.

"So I get changed, and we get in the car that brings us to where I went off to earlier that day, remember I disappeared to? I was getting everything ready.

"I had a boat prepared for us, which took us out onto the harbor. It was just a small, little boat, nothing too extravagant, we’ve got simple tastes, me and Eleanor." He smirks, as Zayn makes a soft sound of disbelief. "But anyways, just a little boat, easy enough to drive. I brought us out to the middle of the harbor, and you could see everything. We just sat there for awhile, just looking at the stars, as cliche as that sounds. And then, I got it really started.

"I had Marcus set up these massive fireworks on land, and it might have been illegal, I don’t know, but it happened. I turned on the fairy lights we had strung up on the boat, and it was proper fairytale romance shit, it was wicked. And she looked amazing, and it got her smiling again, so it’d be worth it just to do that. But, I sat her down at these chairs near the front of the boat, and gave a bit of a speech, don’t remember what I said but I was so bloody nervous. My hands were shaking. And then I got down on one knee, took her hand, and I asked if she’d fancy spending the rest of her life with me."

Louis flourishes his hands as he finishes his story. Everyone in the room is leaning forwards in their seats, listening raptly. “Well?” Harry demands, after a moment of Louis staring at them with a knowing smirk on his face. “What did she say?”

If Louis was smiling before, Harry didn’t know how to describe this one. “She said yes, twat.”

Harry jumps out of his seat. Niall leaps up with him, taking a firm grip of the collar of Harry’s shirt and shaking him with it. They’re shouting, and hopping, exhaustion forgotten, and Zayn’s just sitting in his seat, completely ignoring them as he and Louis exchange private grins. Liam’s sat at the front of the room, eyes popping out of his head, but looking steadily more and more ecstatic as the seconds pass.

"Congratulations!" Harry croons, a bit shaky from badly suppressed Happy Harry tears, and from being shaken by Niall, who is still shouting expletives. Harry can’t even really catch what Niall is saying, but he assumes it’s happy yelling.

After they’ve all calmed down a bit (namely, Niall), Zayn has rose from his chair and plopped himself on the arm of Louis’. “Wow. Can't believe you didn't tell me. Welcome to the club, yeah?”

Louis laughs. “Well  _maybe_  I would have told you, if you hadn't so rudely passed me up as your best man. I've got Harry, now.” Louis reaches around Zayn, and holds up his fist to Harry, who eagerly punches it. Liam, who has also moved closer to Louis, punches the oldest boy in the arm. The meeting has come to a close, Katie having bowed out of the room, probably to make angry phone calls and plan how the news that yet another boy had shacked up.

"Have you set a date, yet?" Harry demands. He’s squashed in the chair beside Louis’ that he had been in originally, but now Niall was sprawled clumsily across his lap. They had all gravitated around Louis, as per usual.

Louis gives him a look. “I asked her like, 17 hours ago. We haven’t exactly gotten much wedding planning done.” Louis tugs at his collar, in what he probably thinks is nonchalantly revealing a monster hickey sitting low on his collarbone. As if an afterthought, Louis adds on, “probably next year. I’ve always liked summer weddings, you know?”

"Yeah," Zayn breathes. "Perrie wants it to be in the Spring, but that seems awfully soon, doesn’t it?”

“And weather in the spring is shit, unless you have a destination wedding, or somewhat.” Louis replies, words blunt but eyes faraway, like he really is considering what he’s saying. They’re all getting into wedding planning mode, a mode that Harry was previously unaware that they were capable of it, but it felt nice.

They had two weddings coming up in the foreseeable future. Harry loathed weddings as much as he loved them; he always ended up a blubbering mess, or a blubbering drunk mess. There was no in between.

They all trailed off at that point, Louis and Zayn staring wistfully out the window, both ridiculously good looking when they’ve got a pout going. Niall still seemed to be buzzing with energy, though it might be due to the fact that someone had finally brought him a coffee. Liam and Harry were both puddles of gooey affection; Liam leaning heavily against Louis’s chair, Harry in between both Louis and Zayn.

There was a point in time where Harry was sure that Liam was going to be the first to get married. He thinks how funny that is, looking back. Liam wasn’t close to being married, just like Louis wasn’t close to being ready to get married a couple of years ago. But he and Eleanor were a good match; Eleanor had stuck by Louis through everything that had happened to them. She’d been there since almost the beginning, and she didn’t seem to mind all the terrible things that people continued to say about her. Harry was happy for them. He was happy for his friends. He hoped that they were happy, too. Hoped that they knew what they were doing.

Harry’s pocket vibrates, and he pulls out his phone to see a new text from Nick. It’s just a stream of sad emoji’s, a whale, and then an even longer stream of question marks. His friends were getting married and starting families. He was still communicating with Nick via eggplant emoji’s.

And thank god for that. Harry’s not sure he would be able to handle it if Nick ever stopped ending his messages with prawns. That’s a level of adulthood that Harry never wants to reach.

~~~

Australia comes to an end, and they fly to Japan, Eleanor and Nick in tow. Nick’s got enough time off that he’s going to be flying back to England with them, and Harry plans to join the mile high club at least once on that flight.

Tokyo is as strange as it is exciting; always a huge culture-shock, regardless of how many times they’ve been there. Harry and Nick get mobbed a bit at the airport, but their arrival takes some of the pressure off of Louis and Eleanor, who is sporting the sparkling engagement ring that Louis and Harry had picked out for her. Harry doesn’t think anyone at the airport had actually noticed the ring, but that wasn’t going to last long. Someone was going to see the ring in the pictures when they were put online, and then Eleanor and Louis would be in the spotlight again.

“Get ready,” Harry said lowly, as they walked through the airport towards the cars. “Enjoy your final few minutes of fame. We’re about to be upstaged.”

Nick scoffs. “I don’t think you’ll ever actually get upstaged, popstar. Not unless a newer, cuter boyband rises to power. You’ll get dethroned by a blonde with curlier hair than yours.”

“Is that who you’re going to leave me for?” Harry grins toothily as they turn the corner to the crowded atrium, where all the fans and the paparazzi are waiting for them. It’s hard to pay much attention to them when Nick’s with him, and Nick’s taking all of his attention.

“Obviously.”

They play their shows in Japan, Nick coming to all of them, as there’s not much else to do in a foreign country when you don’t have any other friends or speak the language. Harry always runs offstage after What Makes You Beautiful, blood pumping towards his cock as he finds Nick, and drags him off to take them back to their hotel.

Inexplicably, two nights before they tour is over, Nick wakes up in the middle of the night. He wakes up so suddenly that he accidentally knocks his elbow into Harry’s ribcage, effectively ensuring that Harry too is awake.

He’s got a manic look in his eyes; an odd mixture of shiftiness, and like he’s just gotten the greatest idea.

Nick leaves the next morning, tells Harry that he’s got very important business to attend to, and that he’d see him when he got back. Harry’s confused, but willing enough to let Nick leave without putting up much of a fight.

“He’s either decided to do something nice for me, or he’s suddenly remembered that he actually didn’t have time off from his job.” Harry simpers later that day, helping Louis to fill up water balloons for some final prank of the tour that he’s decided to pull on Liam. He’s not exactly sure what Louis’s endgame is; just knows that he’s been running around after Louis all day as he tries to fill balloons with various coloured paints. It’s probably something artistic and devious.

“Or maybe, he’s realized that he’s a twat, and that you’re not and now he’s gone back to England to find someone twatty in Camden.” Louis’s got that little wrinkle in his forehead that means he’s focused, which generally makes Harry feel uneasy.

“I thought you were okay with Nick?” Harry asks, a bit worried about both their topic of conversation, and why Louis was eyeing a package of thumbtacks.

Louis just shrugs. “Just because I’m okay with you dating the guy, doesn’t mean that he’s any less of a dick than I thought he was before.” He blinks, and turns away from the tacks. Harry makes a mental note to warn Liam that Louis was planning something, before Liam ends up getting seriously injured.

~~~

Harry’s flight back does not include having sex in the tiny, cramped airplane bathroom, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on the way that Harry looked at it. But Louis’s all curled up with Eleanor, and Harry is decidedly unhappy about not being able to be cuddled up with someone like he had anticipated.

He ends up sleeping for the majority of the flight. He usually has a lot of trouble sleeping on planes, but after 134 shows and near constant touring, Harry had reached his limit of consciousness and was ready to spend the next little while living from nap to nap.

When they finally land, Harry sends a quick text to Nick to tell him their progress.

**Are you picking me up? I’ve got Japanese sweets and a boner.**

Nick’s reply comes a few minutes later, long enough for Harry to have gathered his carry on luggage and to be shoving Louis forward so they can get off the plane. _Can’t, but I’ve sent Aimee to get you. Share the sweets, not your cock_

Harry stares, a bit bewilderedly at his phone. He taps his thumb on the bottom of the screen, as he tries to reason out both a response, and why on earth Aimee would be picking him up. Especially since if Nick couldn’t get him, Harry could easily have a ride from a plethora of people. Why would he bother sending Aimee out of her way to pick him up? It didn’t really make sense, especially since Harry and Aimee were friends and all, but they weren’t “come battle through Heathrow for me” friends.  All of this is suspicious.

Regardless, Harry shrugs, and sends back a quick thumbs up emoji, then stows his phone back in his pocket.

~~~

“Thank you for picking me up,” Harry says to her, feeling slightly awkward and still more than slightly confused by being collected by the vivid haired woman.

“It’s no problem,” Aimee peers through her rear view mirror. “Honestly, don’t worry about it. You need to relax. How are you doing, you feeling sleepy?”

“It was a long flight,” Harry supplies unhelpfully.

“Hm,” Aimee purses her lips. “Lets stop off and pick you up some coffee then. Can’t have you tired tonight.”

“What is going on tonight? Where are we even going?” He demands excitedly. “Why am I in the back seat?”

Aimee doesn’t reply, just fiddles with the mirror as if making a point.

Harry turns faux-unhappily in his seat. “This is kidnapping. I’ll have you sent off to prison.”

Aimee barks a laugh. “I’d be deported. Don’t be a twat.”

“You’re American. Stop saying twat.”

“Fine. Don’t be a cunt.”

The two continued bickering aimlessly for the drive to Starbucks, where they start arguing over drinks. Aimee orders a skinny coffee for Harry—“gotta watch your figure, diva.”—and herself a ridiculously large frap that was drowning in whipped cream—“Need the sugar to put up with your whining.” Harry posed for a few photos with fans in the Starbucks, which would later prove to have Aimee in the background pulling faces.

When Harry was safely tucked back in the car, they lapsed into silence. Harry pretended to be grumpy, but he was happy about Aimee’s teasing. He always found it so hard to communicate with her; she always seemed slightly distant, always like she was holding herself back. It was like even after all this time, Aimee still thought that Harry wasn’t going to be around for long. She had always been nice enough, but her playfulness made him feel as if he was finally being accepted into hers and Nick’s cozy little family of people and canines. He looked out the window, where the rain was now pouring in earnest, and sipped at his shitty coffee.

Aimee pulled up in front of Nick’s flat, and turned around in her seat to look at Harry. She smiled broadly at him, eyes looking suspiciously teary. “Well, here we are. Chez Grimshaw. Leave your bags in the car. You need to get in there. Nick’s waiting.” She paused, looking considering at him, blinking rapidly. “Welcome home.”

Harry felt warm inside, not really reading much into the final two words. “Thank you, Aimee.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, and darted forward to kiss her quickly on the cheek. He tried to be mindful of his coffee, but he still managed to clumsily splash the car with it. Aimee rolled her eyes, and waved off his apologies as he climbed gracelessly out of the car. She drove away the moment he closed the door.

Harry shuffled quickly to Nick’s door, smiling when he sees the door to the front hall propped open so he doesn’t need to be buzzed in. As Harry approaches, he notices that the object shoved under the door is one of his own dirty and battered brown boots. A pair that he distinctly remembered leaving in his own house (when he was unable to throw them in the bin).

Harry stoops down to pick it up, and with brow furrowed he scuttles inside to Nick’s flat. Harry stops at Nick’s door, a sign fastened to tit with clumsy tape. The sign reads, “WELCOME HOME POPSTAR!” written dramatically in Nick’s scrawl, covered in glitter and star stickers with the silly smiles on them. Harry giggles delightedly, only noticing a smaller piece of paper folded neatly and attached to the door lower down than the terrible first one. He plucks it off, setting the shoe and the cup of coffee down on the floor.

“Welcome Home Harry!

World-renowned popstar,

Boyband member,

LGBTQ poster boy,

Brit certified,

& NME’s Villain of the Year.

Or: the love of my life”

Harry lets out a soft noise; a tiny whine in the back of his throat. He feels his eyes start to feel prickly, but he blinks the tears back and makes his wobbly way inside Nick’s door, coffee, note and boot left behind.

Nick’s flat is dark, and that’s strange in itself. It’s rainy and terrible outside, but it’s dark enough inside that Nick must have drawn the curtains for it to be this black.

"And I think we've reached a point where-- God, this is fucking awful-- where we can be empowered by being in love, but not destroyed by it. You know? Not obliterated, floating around in a million little pieces without any concept of how to right ourselves without completely sweeping everything under the carpet. Am I making any sense at all, or am I just blabbering on?"

"You're sort of blabbering on," Harry admits, but he reaches out to cup Nick's face in his hand, encouragingly. "But go on. I know you've got a grand point in here somewhere."

Nick huffs, leaning his face into Harry's hand. He closes his eyes. "I was a right mess when we were split up, right? Pathetic, really. I tried really hard to make it seem like I was totally alright, but I've left a permanent dip in my couch cushions from how much I would just sit there sulking, hoping against hope that you'd just let yourself in, throw yourself onto the couch beside me. I wanted you back, and I got increasingly more and more desperate about it. At first, I missed you all. Like, I wanted you back so you could cook me breakfast and send me dirty text messages while you were at some press conference in Japan and I wanted someone to shop for shit gifts for. But then, after awhile, it got less and less specific. I would have given anything for you in any regards; whether it was as a lover, or as a friend. I just wanted you to be around to laugh at your stupid jokes. I missed things I had never noticed before, and it was proper weird. Pining over that smell you leave in the bathroom after you take a shower, and stuff. Maniac, probably.

"But you already knew that I was ridiculous without you there. Just ask Aimee. Or Pix. I've also landed myself on Henry and David's couch more times than once, and Henry has been mad at me ever since I threw up tequila on some god awful jacket he was making. Henry holds a grudge, he does. My point, my point is," Nick laughs at Harry's expression, halfway between exasperated and affectionate, and he wiggles in closer to Harry. "I think we're at a really good place right now. In our lives, and such. The me from a year ago is absolutely shitting about what's going on, but the me, right now, wearing too much cologne and violating your personal space, is at least 12% sure that this is a good idea. Confirm it with me. Harry." Nick is reaching into his pocket, and Harry has a brief heart attack before he realizes that it's not an engagement ring that Nick's pulling out of his jeans. "Will you move in with me?"

Harry rolls his eyes, and Nick grins at him, because Nick is an asshole and he knows what he's doing. And on some level, Harry is disappointed that Nick's not popping the question, but the rest of him knows that they're going as fast as they, Harry and Nick, are able to go. So Harry'll take it.

~~~

Christmas 2013 follows very much the same pattern as previous two Christmas's. Harry follows Nick back to Manchester for the annual Grimshaw Christmas Extravaganza, and Nick's family is delighted to see them. Christmas was never exactly awkward, but now that Harry and Nick were an official couple, a sense of ease had fallen over their extended family, as if they no longer had to watch their words around them.

Anne, Robin, and Gemma are graciously extended an invitation to the party, an invitation that they accept. Eileen explains to Harry as he helps her chop up carrots for a stew she's inexplicably making, that it just makes more sense for them to combine Christmas's. If she pats him on the cheek with eyes a lot mistier than strictly necessary, Harry doesn't mention it.

Nick and Harry sit at opposite sides of the long dining table, because Olivia was whinging on about how she couldn't eat dinner if she was trying to keep herself from chucking up every time Harry helped Nick pour the gravy, or when Nick would eventually get sick of watching Harry struggle with cutting his meat ("you're nearly 20, and you don't know how to cut your blooming meat. Honestly." "It's not that I don't know how to. I just can't be bothered when you're here.")

Nick and Harry get into a brief squabble about how long they're to stay in Manchester for holidays, but it's nothing compared to their showdown last Christmas. After the men have cleaned up the dishes ("Alright," Eileen grinned toothily at them all, as she threw down her napkin. "Everyone who cooked, doesn't have to clean." The men, with the exception of Harry, all groan. Nick kisses Harry on the cheek as he sweeps up his plate, but pokes him hard in the ribs.), they all make their way into the sitting room for presents. The little kids cause a ruckus, as usual, and Harry curls up under Nick's shoulder on the couch. He watches the kids fight and shout, ignoring his phone buzzing in his pocket, and thinking dreamily about the day he'll have to deal with kids of his own. He nuzzles in closer to Nick, who squeezes his arm around the younger man reflexively. Nick turns his head, and smacks his lips fondly on Harry's forehead. He can hear Eileen tittering loudly, and when he looks up, he sees that she and Anne are watching them with sly looks in their eyes. Eileen looks from the kids, back to Nick and Harry entwined on the couch, raising her eyebrows suggestively. Harry coughs a laugh, but otherwise doesn't comment.

Louis and Eleanor show up not too long after, Eleanor's cheeks flushing prettily from the winter chill. Louis explains how they'd been in Manchester at Eleanor's parents house, and had gotten the directions from Anne. Nick and Louis are still weird around each other, Louis never quite getting over Nick being an arse, and Nick never getting over Louis' personality. But, it's Christmas Eve, and it's Louis' birthday, so they put aside their residual dislike. Louis immediately hits it off with Nick's cousin, and Eleanor sits with Anne and Eileen, discussing the plans for the upcoming wedding. It's to be in the Spring of 2014, and Harry's pretty sure that he hears Eleanor mention Majorca. All of Harry's family have been invited, and Eleanor extends a polite invitation to Eileen, who accepts. Nick murmurs into Harry's ear, "me mum loves a good wedding."

People begin dispersing around 11. Harry walks his family out to the car, ensuring that Robin was sober enough to drive. He waves Harry off dissuasively, reminding him that he'd only had a drink of Anne's glass of wine with dinner, and that had been several hours earlier.

They all retire to their respective rooms, Nick tugging Harry impatiently into his bedroom and onto his cock. Harry rides him slowly, watching the digital clock on the bedside table beside them go from 11:59pm to 12:00am as they ring in Christmas Day. Nick has one hand on Harry's dick, one hand on his hips, and he guides them both into a lazy orgasm, biting their lips as to not disturb Nick's parents sleeping in the next room.

They end up spending the next two weeks in Northern England, bouncing back and forth between Nick's parent's house and Harry's. They even travel up to Ireland once, for a quick visit to see Niall and the Horan's where they spend New Years Eve (Nick pulls Harry in close to him as the room of drunken Irishmen and women begin the countdown from 10. “Remember last year,” Nick says fervently, breath warm on the side of Harry’s neck. It smells like alcohol and a bit like the gum Harry’s slipped Nick, to try and help him stop smoking. “Remember who you rung in 2013 with?” Harry smiles sourly, tilting his head towards Nick’s lips because there’s only 4, 3, 2, 1…), and then to Scotland, where Harry's father had moved to. It's Nick's first time meeting Des, even though Des certainly knows about the relationship. They shake hands, staring each other boldly in the eyes as men do, making sure to keep their grip firm. They only stay the night in Scotland, not much to say to Harry's biological father. Despite the effort that both Harry and Des put into being close and keeping connected, Robin's more Harry's dad by now, and they both know it. Des and Nick chat quietly over dinner about the woman that Des has been seeing on and off for a few months, and Des asks Harry about Louis' football team. It's a nice visit, albeit uncomfortable.

They leave early the next morning, and finally head back to London. Harry's due to head back to work at some point in the next couple of weeks, prep for the stadium tour. Harry's so excited, feels trembly in his knees whenever he thinks about performing for the sheer amount of people each night. He'll miss Nick terribly, but at this point, he's not afraid of coming back to find things different with Nick. He knows that he'll be waiting for him.

Before they get back to work, still in London, Harry makes Nick a playlist. Beth by KISS is the only song on it. Harry thinks he's quite clever, but Nick thinks that he's an idiot.

~~~

January passes quickly enough, Nick and Harry themselves not doing anything big or dramatic once they get back to Nick’s flat, which Harry has finally finished transferring his things to. Louis had told him that they’re stupid; that Harry’s got a big house that Nick should move into instead. But he likes Nick’s flat. He likes how it feels like a real home, and not the replacement house that he had dished out thousands and thousands of pounds for. He’s going to let his place gain a bit of value, then put it back up for sale when the market was a better. Nick’s surprisingly good at things like that. Harry had somehow never noticed that Nick could go hard with financial matters. He knew what he was doing with the markets, and he had invested wisely in various enterprises. He tried to show Harry one night, but Harry could only nod along, yawning loudly before reminding Nick that he hadn’t graduated. (Nick told him that it was a good thing he was so pretty. Harry punched him in the dick).

They go to Zayn’s 21st birthday on the 12th, getting him and Perrie two tickets to Zombie Bootcamp (which Nick thinks is stupid when he first tells Harry about it after seeing a flyer for it up at Radio 1, but Harry thinks is perfect).

“It’s like,” Harry stumbles slightly over his words in his excitement, a habit he got when he had a bit of white wine. “A real zombie training session, and it like, teaches you to fight zombies in real life, and then puts you through a spooky obstacle course. It’s sick.”

Zayn thinks it’s sick, and so does Perrie. Harry requests a blowjob in Zayn and Perrie’s guest bathroom upstairs for being right, and Nick snootily obliges. He scrapes his teeth over Harry’s dick, making Harry squawk and Nick shrugs his shoulders unapologetically.

And it’s January 2014, and Harry had met Nick 3 years earlier. So much had changed in their lives. But Nick was still a twat. Not that he’d ever expected that to change.

~~~

Harry wakes up on the morning of his 20th birthday with Nick not in his bed.

Harry’s a bit bleary, and confused, because it is his birthday, and he’s at least 60% sure that it’s a Saturday. Harry wracks his brain— yes. They’d been out to dinner with Aimee and Ian, and then they’d met up for drinks with Niall and Liam. Niall had introduced them to his new girlfriend. Nick had only complained a couple of times about how late they were staying out. Then they had gone back home, and Harry let Nick do all the work. They’d spent really quite a long time fucking, slowly easing into it until every molecule of Harry’s body felt blissed out and relaxed. Yes, Friday night.

And if it was Friday yesterday, then it must be Saturday today, and there was no reason for Nick to not be in bed with Harry when he first wakes up. He grumps a bit about it; blearily stretching out his legs under the mess of blankets that he’s become entangled in.

He sits up, blinking at the emptiness of the room. His head feels heavy, a ghost of a hangover pressing on his eyelids. Puppy sits at the end of the bed, ears perked up and staring at him.

"What are you doing here, Puppy?" Harry murmurs, voice croaky with sleep. Puppy doesn’t answer, not that Harry expected her.

With a great sigh, Harry pushes himself off of the bed, freeing himself from the vine-like bed sheets. He stretches again, vertically this time, and he’s unimpressed to hear a couple more pops and creaks than he’d like to hear his body making. 20 years old, and already falling apart. He makes a mental note not to mention this to Nick, can only imagine what the older man would say if he started complaining about being old.

Nakedly, Harry pads his way out of the bedroom and down the hall. Puppy follows after him, her little claws scurrying across the tile loudly. Harry is careful to dodge her as she excitedly bounds in front of him, weaving between his feet and seemingly determined to make him trip.

"Nicholas?" Harry calls hopefully when he gets into the dining room. He stands in front of the painting Nick bought that he got the matching pair of. Nick’s flat isn’t quite big enough for two enormous pieces of art; Harry’s got it stowed in his other house somewhere. It’s February, and the cold seeps into their flat no matter how high they crank the heat. Harry’s got goose bumps all over his body, and he sadly thinks back to being under the blankets.

Nick does not call back, which is what Harry figured would be the case when he didn’t immediately hear Nick bustling around the place. Nick’s used to living on his own; he’s not exactly noisy but it’s possible to pinpoint exactly where he is when he’s at home simply because of the habits he’s picked up while living alone. He’ll talk quietly to himself sometimes, sometimes talks to Puppy. He hums a lot, sings a lot more. He touches things often; picking up objects and then putting them down promptly, clattering across the surfaces. It’s nothing annoying, and Harry finds it comforting. The weekends that Harry doesn’t have any obligations are his favourite of any day of the year. Nick still wakes up earlier than he does, and he either wakes up to Nick crawling out of bed, or to Nick quietly yodeling. Or somewhat.

"Looks like it’s just you and me, Miss Puppy." Harry sighs, standing in the middle of the room, shivering slightly. "Miss Forever? Miss Power Forever?"

Puppy, again, does not reply. Harry takes it as Puppy giving him her blessing to call her whatever he wishes. Puppy is very kind in that respect. Harry nudges her gently with his big toe, far too aged and decrepit to lean over and give her a proper pet.

Harry makes his way into the kitchen, blinking against the bright morning sun that shines directly into their flat. He scans the counter quickly, trying to see if Nick possibly left a note, or any indication that he hadn’t just gotten up and left him on what was technically their two year anniversary.

Beside the sink, and directly beside the bowl of fruit, was a tiny pink cupcake, about the size of one of Puppy’s paws, with an even tinier white candle poking out the top of it. Also near the bowl of fruit was an old fashioned Polaroid camera with a big fat bow on top. Harry grinned, reaching over the cupcake for the camera, ripping the bow off unceremoniously. He had mentioned once in passing that he really fancied a Polaroid camera, but could never actually remember he wanted one in situations where he had the ability to get one. It was just one of those foreign ideas, that he remembered occasionally when drunk or when he couldn’t find his Nikon.

Harry tosses the bow onto the counter, holding the viewfinder up to his eye and snapping a quick picture of Puppy, who stares up at him, unimpressed. Harry smiles down at her as the film comes sliding out, shaking it delicately with his forefinger and thumb until the picture gets clearer, and just like that he’s got a picture of Puppy.

He’s got the camera pointed down, and he takes a picture of his junk with the camera’s bow on it to give to Nick, when he hears a key in the lock turning. Puppy sprints at full speed away, still not having warmed up completely to Harry, only spending time with him when absolutely everyone else was busy.

Harry leans onto elbows on the counter, picking up the small cupcake in what he hopes is a reasonably seductive manner, when he realizes that he can hear Nick chatting with someone who sounds suspiciously like his mum. And Harry, while not averse to his mum seeing him starkers, would rather her not see him starkers with a red bow on his dick.

Harry turns around and scampers back around the corner and into the hallway, clumsily racing back to the bedroom to de-bow himself and maybe throw some pants on.

"Harry?" Nick calls out, and Harry can hear the smile in his voice. "What you in a rush for then? Are you that unhappy to see your mum?" Nick’s got that turn in his voice that is (deliciously) Northern, and Harry tries to remember exactly when Nick had snuck out of their bed this morning. He couldn’t have gone all the way up North and be back by now, not unless he hadn’t gone to sleep at all.

Which was, ridiculous, but standard for Nick when he was up to something. He tended to not sleep, and he’d also talk a lot faster. It was always blatantly obvious when he was hiding something, which was endearing, except that one time they’d tried to play couples poker with Niall, and Harry lost £200 because Nick couldn’t actually play poker for shit.

Harry didn’t reply to Nick’s teasing, and he could hear his mum say something quietly to Nick, and Nick laughed. It was his loud, good laugh, too. Not his “I’m just being polite, this is awkward and awful” laugh. He was eternally glad that his mum had forgiven Nick for being a dink. Now he could hear them chatting and laughing on his birthday.

Harry quickly pulls some clothes on from their wardrobe, and he’s half sure that the shirt is Nick’s, but then he’s bounding back out to meet them.

"Mum!" He exclaims, teeth flashing. He’s reaching out to hug her from halfway across the room, and when he finally reaches her she makes a soft ‘oof’ against his chest.

"Harry," Anne replies, after she collects herself a bit. She looks suspiciously red in the eyes, but other than that she seems happy to see him. She lays her hands on either sides of his shoulders, fingering the fabric of his collar. Harry thinks that Nick left a nasty love bite right below where her left hand is resting, but if she sees it she doesn’t mention it. "Happy birthday, love. Twenty years old. My baby is twenty years old."

"Your baby’s baby is just about thirty." A third voice chimes in, and Harry looks up just to see Alexa, looking frustratingly put together for 9:30 AM on a Saturday. She waggles her eyebrows at Harry as greeting, making a screechy noise as Nick smacks her on the shoulder.

"Don’t remind me," Anne says quietly, just loud enough for Harry to hear. He makes a face at her, and she winks as she pulls away from him.

In the next hour, Nick and Harry’s flat slowly fills up with various human beings. It’s truly a testament to how friendly Harry is that half of the people from Nick’s work show up, some of them Harry only having met a couple of times. Every member of his band but Zayn are there, Niall tucked in between Alexa and his girlfriend, and looking very happy indeed. Alexa looks less than pleased. So does his girlfriend.

Anne makes them all a fry-up (a _proper_ fry-up, because no matter what Harry did, he still could not quite manage to perfect it), which Louis cheerfully assists with. Eleanor’s sat at the island behind the two of them, watching Louis take the kitchen in a blur of movement, skeptically tapping her right foot on her stool. She really seems to be hitting it off with Aimee, curiously enough, which Harry is pleased about (Aimee was the most adamant about being anti-Louis after his Moyles comment, despite the fact that Nick has long since forgotten about it and Louis has long since promised Harry to not bad mouth Nick on public forums anymore). Aimee darts into the kitchen, slipping between Anne and Louis long enough to grab the blender and a tray of ice for a batch of morning pina coladas (Harry’s favourite time for pina coladas). She smiles at Eleanor, tilts her head and gestures for her to join them in the living room.

Harry sits at the table near the back doors, smiling dreamily at the bustle of activity around him. Nick’s moving just as fast as Louis is, going from person to person to say hello and make sure that they’re having a good time. He occasionally will look up from his conversations, eyes scanning the room until they rest on Harry, smile hitching up just a little bit more every time he sees him. Pixie takes a seat beside Harry, her tiny dog under her arm because Puppy still doesn’t take well to other animals. She kicks Harry lightly in the shin, smiling warmly at him as they sit stationary and bask in the whirling of activity around them.

“Thanks, Harry.” It took Harry a moment to realize that Pixie had said anything initially, as she spoke so uncharacteristically quiet. He tilts his head to the side, shaking his head slightly, bemused.

“You’re welcome?” He offers, crinkles in between his eyebrows. “What are you thanking me for?”

Pixie pets absently at her dog, scratching behind his fluffy ears with manicured nails. Nick liked to go on about how minge Pixie was, but Harry could never really see it. Sure, Pixie was prone to taking her top off whenever it got too hot, and she didn’t seem to have a firm understanding of why she shouldn’t eat food off the floor that she’s dropped, but there was always something innately sophisticated about her that balanced out her goofiness. And it was times like this, where Pixie wasn’t up and bouncing around and entertaining and cracking jokes that Harry could see how posh she really was.

“You’re really good. For Nick, I mean.” Pixie seems determined to not look Harry directly in the eye. “We’re all really happy that you’re not some dickhead with his head up his arse. That’s Nick already, don’t need two of them in one relationship.”

Harry laughs softly, Pixie glancing at him with a small smile curling her lips. “What I mean to say,” she says, reaching across to pat his thigh, “is thank you for coming back. For not just disappearing.”

“Oh,” Harry says, cheeks dimpling. He’s surprisingly dry-eyed as he gets up into a slouch and properly hugs her, little dog yapping angrily at him as he latches himself onto the woman. He doesn’t say anything, can’t really think of anything _to_ say to her, but he hopes that by hugging her until she’s slapping at his back and complaining about not being able to breathe that it’ll get his point across.

“Oy,” Niall shouts from the kitchen. Harry looks up from Pixie, settling himself back down into his seat as Niall strides into the room. He’s got a look on his face like whatever he’s got is the most hilarious thing in the world. The entire room turns to him, conversations breaking off as Niall wags something in the air with his left hand. Harry squints. It looks a lot like a polaroid—

Harry leaps to his feet, shoving his way through the guests (they’re here for his party anyways, they’ll forgive him when the drinks start pouring) and towards Niall who is cackling as he watches Harry bumble towards him. Most of the people just watch the action with interest, Nick smiling in confusion from his spot perched on the side of the couch.

“Look what I found meself!” Niall crows loudly, still shaking the photo (of what Harry assumes will be his penis with a bow on the end, judging by Niall’s reaction) triumphantly in the air. The speed with which Niall is shaking the picture makes the image unrecognizable, but Harry knows that he’s only got a handful of seconds before Louis swoops in and makes this situation about a thousand times worse.

“That’s not for you!” Harry shouts, unable to stop the wide grin that is erupting across his face. All the boys have seen Harry naked countless times, but there are quite a few people in the room that he’d rather not seeing a picture of his cock with a bow on it.

Just as Harry’s about to pounce on Niall, Louis turns the corner from the kitchen and Harry sees his actual life flash before his eyes. “What’s this, then?” Louis says shrilly, quickly swiping the picture from between Niall’s fingers. Harry skids to a stop right in front of Niall and Louis, the rest of the room watching in what Harry can only imagine to be amusement and confusion.

Louis stares down at the photo, not reacting for a five long seconds. After those blessed moments of peace, he looks up at Harry, blue eyes twinkling as he raises his voice a bit higher than before, just so everyone is sure to hear him. “Why’ve you got a picture of his cock, Niall?”

The next day, the papers would run a story about unrest within One Direction, as Niall would leave Harry and Nick’s flat with a black eye from the following scuffle, and Louis would leave with a distinctive bite mark on his forearm. In the end, Nick ends up with the picture shoved in his pocket, from when he and Liam stepped in to stop the flailing of arms in the puppy-like rumble that ensuing fight. Harry ends up flat on his back, Louis shoving his quick little fingers under Harry’s armpits and Niall sitting on his arse beside them, head thrown back laughing. The party around them watches for a couple of minutes, before it’s made clear that once Louis’s got Harry pinned, and Nick’s got the picture concealed, that nothing else really exciting was going to happen. Liam eventually shoves Louis off, and Harry brushes himself off with as much grace as he can muster, not that he’s particularly worried about that.

At noon, Anne brings out a wonderful, multi-layered cake with twenty neat little candles. Harry gets the Ice Road Truckers boxset from Nick, and a dirty promise whispered in his ear as he opens up Gemma’s gift (a hair curler). Zayn shows up around 1, only really staying long enough to wish Harry a happy birthday, then to tell him that he’s flying out to see Little Mix. The party slowly starts thinning out as the day goes by, Louis and Eleanor leaving at 2 and then everyone else slowly trickling afterwards. Soon, it’s only Harry and Nick left, Nick scooting the final few people out the door and then they’re alone.

Harry sighs happily at the sight of his boyfriend, all dressed up in his nice party sweater and his nice party jeans. Harry’s still wearing the clothes he threw on quickly that morning, and he’d feel underdressed if they weren’t in their current disaster-zone of a flat. He scoots over to Nick, who strides over to meet him too, throwing his arms around Harry’s hips and pulling him in for a tired kiss.

“Good day, love? It was alright, wasn’t it?” Nick’s breathing is heavy and he’s warm in Harry’s arms and he can’t possibly imagine a reason why things might not be okay when he’s so at peace in that moment.

“It was alright.” Harry smiles up at him, only half of his face coming up as the other half would very much like to be kissing Nick again. “It was fun. Very busy.”

Nick nods, bags under his eyes confirming Harry’s earlier suspicions that he hadn’t slept the night before.  “Was, wasn’t it? Well, I’ve got dinner reservations for just us at that place we always go to,” Nick says, excitement pulling at his voice. “Same one we went to last year, and the year before it. Then we can go out to a club, yeah?”

Harry shrugs. “Sounds nice. Want to know what sounds nicer? Not going out, and staying in bed and having sex until it’s not my birthday anymore.” He moves his arms up, wrapping them securely around Nick’s neck so he can interlock his own fingers behind Nick’s head. He sidles in closer, waggling his hips where he can feel Nick’s hands holding onto them.

Nick looks only a bit reluctant. “What about dinner?”

“I think we have custard. I can eat that off your chest.”

Air rushes out of Nick’s nose, and his smile is so big that it looks painful. He blinks once, twice, then a third time, just staring down at Harry with a look on his face that Harry has never seen Nick make, but he thinks he’s seen it once or twice on people in movies. That goofy, ridiculous “I’m so in love with you I can’t believe you’re real” look that’s so tacky and horrible on people in movies, but is somehow the most gorgeous thing that Harry’s ever seen on Nick. He thinks it’s because he can practically hear Nick’s heart beating in his chest, can feel his hands on his hips and feel the warmth from his body resonate all the way through him.

He reckons it’s quite the same look that he himself gives Nick.

Nick’s eyes are still crinkled with his smile, and his grip is still tight. “Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be awful.”

“It wouldn’t be horrible.”

“Not at all terrible.”


	5. be with me so happily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soz if you don't like Elounor. 
> 
> (❁´◡`❁)

**Epilogue**

The day of Louis' wedding doesn't dawn gradually and calmly; the sun bursts over the horizon and wakes them all the fuck up.

Louis had eventually reasoned Eleanor into a wedding in England, as a lot of their extended family couldn't afford to just jet off to some beach in Bermuda, and Louis couldn't pay for them all. Eleanor's been grouchy about it for weeks, but as the day of the wedding drew nearer, and as their plans for the reception in London became more luxurious and more elaborate, Eleanor calmed down. She resigned herself to arranging the flower arrangements and planning their 564 person wedding, comprising of virtually every person they have ever met, probably.

Harry is one of the best men, so it's his job to help Louis keep from climbing to the top of the church steeple and flinging himself off of it, while trying to help Eleanor in any way he can. He and Zayn split up their duties, Zayn going for the more practical approach in making sure things go as smoothly as possible, and Harry is there to provide cuddles and prevent any emotional disasters. He keeps a steady stream of texts to Nick going all day, because Nick's got to pick up a bunch of people in their car and bring them to the venue, and then he's got to go and anonymously tip the paparazzi that Louis' wedding is in two days, in Venice. Because of the wedding location, it's naive of them to believe that they could possibly keep it secret for long, and they're all expecting some paparazzi by the end of the service. They've been trying to avoid any questions about the location of the wedding, but Eleanor's apparently been having nightmares where teenage girls armed with fake beards slam open the church doors and trample her dress. Eleanor's maid of honour has been trying to sedate her, but all of them are vaguely worried about the exact same thing. Maybe not girls with beards, but something similar.

By 10:30 that morning, they're all busy doing something for someone. Guests from nearby hotels have to be collected, and decorations still need to be set up and the bride still isn't in her dress. Louis, very briefly, goes missing, and it's a half hour of Harry and Zayn scurrying around frantically, trying to find Louis without alerting anyone that they've lost Louis. Zayn finally finds him, fuck knows where, and Harry doesn't even ask, he's so relieved. He shoves Louis into his dressing room, summons Stan and puts him in there to babysit, locking the door behind them. He'd normally loathe being the guy who put an end to the fun and hijinks, but today isn't the day for adventuring. Today is a day that Louis shuts up and puts a ring on his fiancé.

When Nick finally meets up with Harry later that day, at around 1:30, Nick's eyes are practically large saucers. He stares up at the cathedral, cleared of the regular tourists and church-goers as they prepare for the wedding.

"What?" Harry asks, slipping his hands into the pocket of Nick's skinny jeans to grope him affectionately as a greeting.

"I knew you were all famous, but this is like, proper famous." Nick says quietly, his voice echoing in the lobby of the cathedral. "I thought this place only had like, royal weddings here."

Harry shrugs. "Eleanor's dad is a member of something or other. He's not like, proper royal or anything, but I think he's a sir. Just avoid eye contact." Harry hadn't really been given a clear explanation as to why Louis and Eleanor were getting married in Actual St Peter's Cathedral, and he knew better than to get into it on a day like today.

Nick grumbles, peering at the bustle of people going in and out of the church doors, and pulls his jacket in closer to his body. He plants a quick kiss on the top of Harry's right cheekbone, then starts tugging Harry towards the doors.

The next couple of hours go laboriously slowly. Harry loses Nick somewhere around the time that no one could find Eleanor's veil, and when Niall had arrived with a congregation of Irishmen in tow, and the news that the paparazzi had started arriving. Harry had changed into his nice suit earlier in the day, but he changed out of it again when it became clear that he'd probably ruin it with the amount of sprinting from one end of the cathedral to the other. About 2 hours to the time where Eleanor's set to be marching down the aisle, Louis has descended into a strange sense of calm. He's just sat with Zayn and Stan on either side of him on a bench near the room they'd been hiding in, smiling dreamily at the opposite wall. Harry eyes the three of them suspiciously, because this was a day where Louis was NOT allowed (under Eleanor's orders) to be smoking or drinking or taking anything, but their pupils look fine, and Stan promises that they hadn't given him anything.

The pews in the cathedral slowly fill, the main chamber of the building echoing with the voices of their happy guests. Harry can see the rest of Louis's family standing near the front, Jay absolutely glowing and swollen with her pregnancy. She's surrounded by her daughters, and Harry is just about ready to make his way over to compliment Lottie's dress when Liam shows up and drags him by his wrist to a room up several flights of stairs.

In the room are Louis, Zayn and Niall, and they're all looking nervous and excited. There's only half hour until the ceremony starts, and Harry is pretty sure that someone in the wedding party is going to kill them all for sneaking off like this. Harry doesn't even know for sure where they are; it's dusty and there are various nonsensical pieces of furniture splayed across the wooden floor. Zayn's leaning on what looks like a very old wardrobe; Niall and Louis are standing beside a dirty porcelain toilet.

Liam closes the door behind them, and Niall picks up a large goblet filled with red wine.

"This is so fucking crazy." Zayn murmurs, eyes flickering across each boy. "Can't believe this is happening."

Louis chokes a laugh. "You can't believe it? Imagine how I feel, mate."

They all chuckle, moving closer to each other in a big circle. Niall's clutching the cup in his hand, but every other hand in the room grabs at one another, Louis's fingers clutched around Liam's lapel and Harry's thumb, Zayn's hands on Niall and Harry, Liam's on Louis and Zayn. It feels soft and intimate and reminds Harry achingly of 2010, when they had no one else in the world but the other four boys. Their lives had really begun when they had been thrown at each other on the X-Factor, and they had grown from boys into men with each other on their sides. Their huddle is desperate and affectionate, and it's exactly the kind of support each of them need.

"Things are going to be different now." Harry says lowly. "Things are never going to be the same after today."

None of them reply, just keep clutching onto their best friends, their brothers. Harry closes his eyes, leaning his head in and resting his forehead against Louis's. They're quiet for a handful of moments, chasing something that probably doesn't exist anymore (because they’re _not_ boys, and they’re not alone together anymore), and then it's gone. They slowly let go of each other, and back slightly away.

Niall takes a drink of the goblet, then passes it to his left. They all take a gulp, ending with Louis who finishes the cup.

"Now," Louis's lips curl upwards. "I've got to run. I've a previous engagement I've got to get to."

~~~

The wedding is beautiful.

After they all descend from the dirty attic room, Harry makes his way to the main room. He finds Nick seated near his mum, leaning across the aisle to talk to Andy, who is showing off his burn scars. Harry had never been Andy’s biggest fan, something that was only too clear to everyone involved in their personal lives, Nick and Andy included. But Nick got along with everyone, and Harry couldn’t help but be a little bit extra nice to someone who had recently caught fire.

Harry plops down next to Nick, in between the man and Anne, who pats him on the leg at the same time that Nick does. Anne’s hand falters in it’s movement, and she and Nick share a look over Harry’s head. Nick keeps his hand on Harry’s thigh, Anne retracts hers, but it’s with no sense of reluctance or resentment on either of their parts. Harry readjusts in his seat clumsily, a bit purposefully so that he could take the attention away from the silent exchange that had turned slightly awkward.

“Where’d you lot get off to?” Nick asks, lightly. He tears his eyes away from Anne, and directs his attention to Harry, who feels warm, nestled in between his two favourite people in the world. “Why aren’t you in your suit?”

Harry looks down at himself, having somehow forgotten that he wasn’t wearing his suit. “Oh,” he muses quietly, smiling wryly at the thought of standing up at the front of St. Peter’s Cathedral during Eleanor and Louis’s wedding ceremony in a white t-shirt. “Was sweaty. And I was holding a baby. Lots of mucus.”

Nick looks delighted. “Oi, you’re talking about Niall’s nephew, aren’t you? I was watching him slobber all over everyone, takes after his uncle, he does.” Nick gathers himself up, and pulls Harry to his feet. “C’mon, then. Lets get you dressed.”

“I can get dressed on my own,” Harry simpers petulantly, but allows himself to be guided out of the hall, only rolling his eyes once at Anne as if to say _can you get a load of this guy?_

Nick pulls Harry quickly, both of their feet making soft little tapping sounds on the marble floors. They both need to smile and greet people every couple seconds, but Nick is merciless in his pursuit to get Harry out of there. He shakes back the sleeve of his left arm, quickly checking his watch.

“We’ve got about 45 minutes until I have to let you go to be professional and best friend-y.” Nick announces to him loudly, pushing past a crowd that had congregated at the doors.

“45 minutes is more than enough time, Grimmy.” Harry tells him, voice making him sound lazier and more relaxed than he must look, shuffling around. He’s got a good feeling about where this is going. “I’ve just got to change my shirt.”

Nick glances back over his shoulder, a smug look on his face. “It’s not all we’re doing.” Harry returns the smile, triumphant in his ability to decipher between Nicks’ “I’m in a genuine hurry for important reasons” walk, and his “I’m in a genuine hurry for some sexual contact” walk.

Nick pulls them around the corner, and into a longer hall. “Okay, but I think Louis would be pissy if we steal the spotlight from his special day by getting caught having sex in public.”

“Pah, we don’t need 45 minutes for actual sex. You have remarkably little stamina when it comes to exhibitionism; you’d just end up embarrassing both of us.”

“Hey,” Harry frowns, drawing out the end of the word as Nick finally pulls him back into the dressing room. Harry can see his suit jacket and his dress shirt folded neatly on the table, exactly where he left it. He loathes the idea of putting them on, when all he really wants is to take his clothing off. Nick twists behind Harry, closing and turning the flimsy lock after them. Someone could probably burst through if they really wanted to, but the room didn’t have any windows, and it was pretty far removed from the rest of the ceremony. Harry estimated, as he leaned back against the wall directly beside the door, that the chances of someone discovering them doing anything were pretty slim. “What we doing, then?”

Nick smirked. “Eager, are we?” He sidles up beside him, hooking his thumbs through the soft loops of Harry’s trousers, pulling Harry’s hips out to meet his. He’s not wasting any time. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind. We _are_ in a church. God’s holy presence, and all. Aren’t you more religious than this?”

Harry’s got his hands folded primly behind his back, shoulders against the wall but the bottom part of his body curved out to meet Nick’s. He gently shifts his shoulders. “God’s seen us fucking everywhere else, why not here, too?”

Nick laughs at this, face all bright and affectionate and eyes opened wide and God, Harry loves him so much. He surges forward, scrambling with Nick’s blazer in his haste to get something—anything—to hold onto as he kisses Nick. His eyes quickly flutter shut, breathing in deeply the scent of Nick and church and Nick and cologne. He feels weak, feels like he wants to swallow Nick whole and never leave this room. He’s vaguely aware of all their friends and family are really, really close by (his _mum_ is out there), but he wants Nick to absolutely wreck him.

“Let me, let me…” Nick trails off, speaking in between moments where he would pull away and right before Harry would go in for another kiss. He can see Nick fumbling for something in his pockets, trying to simultaneously find what Harry suspects will be a tiny packet of lube, and feel Harry up. “Shit. Shit. I don’t, I don’t have anything.”

“That’s okay,” Harry says immediately, licking his lips as he rests his head on the wall behind him. He can see himself in the dressing room mirror behind Nick, can see how mussed his hair already looks and how red his lips are. “Let me at your cock. I have more than one hole.”

Nick chokes another laugh, rolling his eyes but is very enthused as Harry slowly sinks down onto his knees. “Ooh, talk dirty to me, Styles. Tell me about your many holes.”

“Hm,” Harry murmurs, making short work of Nick’s belt and taking sure hands to his button and fly. “I have an arse hole, which I’m sure you’ve noticed by now. I’ve also got a pretty big mouth hole, it’s how I make my modest living. Some nostrils, and two eyeballs, which I guess count as holes, but I’d really prefer that you don’t stick your dick in those. Might hurt.” He makes a soft, pleased sound as he pulls Nick’s trousers and pants down, and his member comes up to greet him.

“Such a bleedin idiot,” Nick groans, pushing his hips, and his dick closer towards Harry’s face. He’s leaning over Harry, forearms braced on the wall behind the younger man. Harry looks up at him, all hunched and just a bit desperate looking, and he has to shift a bit himself, wishing he could adjust his own dick in his tight jeans.

“Rude,” Harry remarks dully. He means the comment, not Nick pushing himself on Harry’s face. Harry really likes that. He takes his left hand and holds on lightly to the base of Nick’s dick, which still isn’t fully erect yet. He builds up a bit of saliva, before spitting it onto his right hand and placing it right beside his left on Nick. He strokes him to fullness, looking up at the man with his mouth slightly open, like he knows that Nick likes. Nick likes feeling like Harry really wants it (which Harry always does), and he is only too happy to oblige. Makes him feel loose and open and giddy for Nick to know exactly how much he’d rather be on his back with his legs open for him the vast majority of the time.

The fact that he’s willing to put aside having lots of sex to get anything done should be a bigger deal to everyone else. Harry thinks it’s a big deal. He’s quite proud of himself for it.

When Harry’s got Nick almost fully hard, he stops stroking, and places his left hand on his thigh neatly. He leans in closer, mouth ghosting over the tip. Just before going down on him, he smiles up at Nick once more. “I want you to fuck me like this.” Nick makes a strangled sound in response, nodding jerkily.

Satisfied, Harry gets to it. He had given Nick a blowjob the day before, but his lips always felt like they were cracking a bit during that first stretch, and he’s only got the tip. They don’t have much time, and Harry’s going to get a mutual blowjob out of this arrangement, or he’s leaving Nick for one of the bridesmaids. Nick’s already got his hands in Harry’s hair, which Harry likes. Likes being pet. Likes being handled, really. Wouldn’t mind being roughed up. Preferably right now. He leans down further, taking more and more of Nick in his mouth, still peering up from under his eyelashes and hoping that Nick takes the hint that, “okay, I’m ready for you to fuck my throat.”

Nick doesn’t, which Harry frowns at. He pushes down more and more, feels the tip of his dick at the back of his throat and he steels his fingers at his thighs as he adjusts the tilt of his head so that his throat is open. He breathes deeply through his nose, wind of his breath actually managing to ruffle a bit of the pubic hair at the base of Nick’s cock and he resists the urge to laugh. It might have been a bit disastrous to start giggling with a cock halfway down his throat.

He doesn’t get the whole thing in; he’s a bit jumpy about them being in public and he’s starting to be painfully hard in his jeans. He looks up expectantly, having taken quite a lot, and hoping up for Nick’s approval. Nick’s fingers are very loose in their grasp of Harry’s curls, stroking his thumb absently as he looks down at Harry. He’s got that vein in the middle of his forehead, which means that he’s resisting the urge to fuck into Harry’s throat, which Harry is cross about. He raises his eyebrows expectantly, hums slightly impatiently.

“Oh,” Nick grunts, and his upper body seems to relax as he takes a tighter grip on Harry, pulling Harry off his dick, so he can push him back on. Harry closes his eyes and hums again, this time in satisfaction, and he folds his hands behind his back, fingers laced tightly as he focuses all of his attention into just _taking_ it. Nick starts off slow, as always, working up to the point where there’s saliva dripping from the seams of Harry’s lips where he’s suctioned on Nick’s cock. Harry tries to lean forward, so the worst of the blowjob-y saliva doesn’t drip onto his nice clothes. They should have thought this through better. Maybe gotten Harry a bib.

The only sounds are the sound of Harry’s mouth squelching and Nick’s grunting, his hips snapping forward to push himself into Harry’s mouth over and over again. Harry’s trying to control his breathing, focusing solely on this moment, this room, this man.

Suddenly, Nick pulls out completely, a thick streak of saliva trailing from Harry mouth to Nick’s dick. Harry sucks in a deep breath, unsure of whether or not Nick was planning on plunging back in or not, but taking the opportunity while it was presented. Nick keeps a tight grasp around the base of his cock, looking down at Harry with lust-blown eyes. He hesitates, as if he’s unsure of what to do next, which is something that Harry has never encountered with Nick. He frowns, still panting a bit, before surging forward and pulling Nick’s clothes down a bit more so he can mouth at Nick’s balls. He didn’t come this far not to get a mouthful of come because Nick appears to be having a crisis.

“Harry, you’re so fucking—fuck.” Nick groans, and Harry can feel the groan through Nick’s whole body. He laps greedily at his balls, still peering up at the man. He’s still concerned about Nick stopping. But he can be concerned while attached at the genitals.

“I just,” Nick cock looks painful and Harry wants to help it. “I just love you so much, you know that, right?”

Harry pulls off, looks up curiously at Nick. He puts his right hand over top of Nick’s hand on his dick, and gives Nick a confused look. “Yeah, I know. Put your cock back in my mouth.”

Nick obliges, coming heavily on Harry’s stretched out tongue. He pulls the younger man back up to his feet after he’s finished and Harry’s swallowed his come down, and he kisses him gently on his rosy red lips. Then he pushes Harry down onto the chair in the middle of the room, and shows Harry’s cock how much he loves him.

~~~

Harry performs his best man duties adequately. He’s basically just meant to stand there and watch Louis gape at Eleanor, and possibly stop Louis if he suddenly bolts. And Louis doesn’t bolt, doesn’t even come close to bolting, so Harry’s role in front of the entire church is easy enough.

Louis had to pick only one of them to stay up with them for the entire ceremony, and Harry had bowed back gracefully and let Stan do the honours of being one of the witnesses. Harry, the rest of the boys, and Eleanor’s bridesmaids all return to their seats, Harry nearly stumbling over his own feet in his haste to fold himself in between Nick and his mum. Nick carelessly throws an arm around Harry’s shoulder when he sits, squeezing his bone as if reassuring him that he had done fine, and that no one had seen him trip. Harry relaxes into Nick’s side, sighing happily into his embrace.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, Nick’s leg bouncing up and down excitedly because he’s unable to sit still for even 10 minutes. Harry’s used to Nick’s twitchiness, and he easily ignores it, wrapped up in the ceremony before him. When—

“I think I’d quite like to marry you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. One day. Not today, obviously. Louis’ getting married.” Nick pokes Harry in the side, taking exaggerated care to not wrinkle Harry’s suit. “But yeah. Someday. If you’re up for it.”

Harry smiles. He tilts his head to the left, reaching for Nick’s lips with his own. Softly, and quietly, hoping that no one would even notice it, Harry plants a small kiss on his boyfriend’s mouth. “Are you proposing to me in the middle of a wedding?”

“Well, it’s no Tiffany’s parking lot. Are you rejecting my proposal in the middle of a wedding ceremony?”

Harry rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “No. I’m not. I think I’d be up for it.”

Nick turns fully to look at Harry. He moves his hand not over Harry’s shoulder from his thigh, to take hold of his hand. He entwines their fingers together, and pulls Harry’s hand up to kiss his knuckles.

In front of them, Louis says his vows. Harry wishes that he could be a better person, because a better person would be listening to their best friend on their wedding day. But he can’t; Louis’ words are drowned under the sound of Harry’s heart beating in his ears.  He’s too busy feeling Nick’s skin against his, too busy memorizing the way that the heavy incense burning in the air does nothing to make Nick smell any less like home. Too busy trying to conjure the image of babies with brown eyes and curly hair that he’d set aside as a lost cause nearly a year before. Too busy trying to imagine being with anyone who wasn’t Nick, anyone who didn’t tell ridiculous jokes and have stupid hair that got caught in the drain and who didn’t clean up his toothpaste from the bathroom sink. Busy trying to fathom how he ever thought himself obsessed with Nick, busy trying to figure out how he’d ever put all of his worth in Nick’s affection. Busy trying to forgive himself for that, while understanding that how things were, isn’t how things are now.

If he were a better person, the tears in his eyes would definitely be for Eleanor and Louis. But he’s not; he’s just a silly popstar with his heart in his eyes for his silly boyfriend.

But no one can tell. Everyone cries at weddings.

 


End file.
